LITTLE -B  ROTH  €RS 
OF-TH6-A1R 


BIOLOGY 

JJBRARY 

G 


JHiiitr* 


BIRD-WAYS.     i6mo,  #1.25. 

IN   NESTING  TIME.     i6mo,  $1.25. 

LITTLE     BROTHERS     OF     THE     AIR. 

$1.25. 

HOUGHTON,  MIFFLIN  &  CO. 
BOSTON  AND  NEW  YORK. 


LITTLE    BROTHERS    OF 
THE    AIR 


BY 

OLIVE   THORNE   MILLER 

filler,      |VVs< 


BOSTON    AND    NEW    YORK 
HOUGHTON,  MIFFLIN   AND   COMPANY 


1893 


Copyright,  1892, 
BY  H.  M.  MILLER. 

All  rights  reserved. 


The  Riverside  Press,  Cambridge, Mass.,  U.S.  A. 
Electrotyped  and  Printed  by  H.  O.  Houghton  &  Company. 


INTRODUCTORY. 


SOME  of  the  chapters  of  this  little  book  were 
written  in  1888,  on  the  shore  of  the  Great  South 
Bay,  Long  Island ;  others  in  the  northern  part 
of  New  York  State,  known  to  its  residents  as 
the  "  Black  River  Country,"  a  year  or  two  later. 
Part  of  them  have  been  published  in  The  Atlan- 
tic Monthly,  Harper's  Bazar,  The  Independent 
and  other  papers. 

The  nomenclature  in  the  Table  of  Contents  is 
that  adopted  by  the  American  Ornithological 
Society. 

OLIVE  THORNE  MILLER. 


£5286* 


CONTENTS. 


ON  THE  GREAT  SOUTH  BAY. 

PAGE 

I.   THE  KINGBIRD'S  NEST 1 

Kingbird.     Tyrannus  tyrannus. 

II.   A  CHRONICLE  OF  THREE  LITTLE  KINGS  .     ,     .     19 
Kingbird.      Tyrannus  tyrannus. 

III.  THE  BABES  IN  THE  WOOD 34 

Flicker.     Colaptes  auratus. 

IV.  HOME  LIFE  OF  THE  REDSTART 48 

American  Redstart.     Sftophaga  ruticilla. 

V.  WHEN  NESTING  is  OVER 61 

Thrasher.     Harporhynchus  rufus. 
White-bellied  Swallow.     Tachycineta  bicolor. 
Wood  Pewee.     Contopus  virens. 
Bluebird.     Sialia  sialis. 

VI.  IN  SEARCH  OF  THE  BLUEJAY 76 

Bluejay.     Cyanocitta  cristata. 

VII.   IN  THE  WCOD  LOT 83 

Bluejay.     Cyanocitta  cristata. 

VIII.   THE  BLUEJAY  BABY 89 

Bluejay.     Cyanocitta  cristata. 


yi  CONTENTS. 

IN  THE  BLACK  RIVER  COUNTRY. 

IX.   THAT  WITCHING  SONG    .     . 99 

Wilson's  Thrush.     Turdus  fuscescens. 

X.   THE  VEEKY  MOTHER 107 

Wilson's  Thrush.     Turdus  fuscescens. 

XL   THE  TAWNY  THRUSH'S  BROOD 114 

Wilson's  Thrush.     Turdus  fuscescens. 

XII.  A  MEADOW  NEST 123 

Wilson's  Thrush.     Turdus  fuscescens. 

XIII.  A  JUNE  ROUND  OF  CALLS 130 

Wood  Pewee.     Contopus  virens. 
Junco.     Junco  hyemalis. 
Flicker.     Colaptes  auratus. 
Redstart.     Setophaga  ruticilla. 
Sapsucker.     Sphyrapicus  varius. 

XIV.  A  BOBOLINK  RHAPSODY 138 

Bobolink.     Dolichonyx  oryzivorus. 

XV.   THE  BOBOLINK'S  NEST 146 

Bobolink.     Dolichonyx  oryzivorus. 

XVI.    THE  TANAGER'S  NEST 155 

Scarlet  Tanager.     Piranga  erythromelas. 

XVII.   THE  WILES  OF  A  WARBLER 163 

Black-throated  Blue.    Dendroica  ccerulescens. 

XVIII.   A  RAINY-DAY  TRAMP 173 

Oven-bird.     Seiurus  aurocapillus. 

XIX.   THE  VAGARIES  OF  A  WARBLER      .     .     .     .     .180 
Redstart.     Setophaga  ruticilla. 
Chestnut-sided  W.     Dendroica  pensylvanica. 

XX.   A  CLEVER  CUCKOO .  190 

Black-billed  C.     Coccyzus  erythrojihthalmus. 


CONTENTS.  Vll 

XXI.   Two  LITTLE  DRUMMERS 201 

Sapsucker.     Sphyrapicus  varius. 
Red-headed  Woodpecker.      Melanerpes  ery- 
throcephalus. 

XXII.    FROM  MY  WINDOW 221 

Phoebe.     Sayornis  phcebe. 

Robin.     Merula  migratoria. 

Great-crested  Fly- catcher.  Myiarchus  crinitus. 

Purple  Grackle.     Quiscalus  quiscula. 

Downy  Woodpecker.     Dryobates  pubescens. 

Chestnut-sided  Warbler.     Dendroica  pensyl- 

vanica. 
Kingbird.      Tyrannus  tyrannus. 

XXIII.  THE  COMICAL  CROW  BABY 236 

Common  Crow.     Corvus  americanus. 

XXIV.  A  MIDSUMMER  WOOING 244 

American  Goldfinch.      Spinus  tristis. 

XXV.   A  PLUM-TREE  ROMANCE 252 

American  Goldfinch.     Spinus  tristis. 

XXVI.  SOLITARY  THE  THRUSH 259 

Hermit  Thrush.    Turdus  aonalaschkcepallasii. 
INDEX .269 


ON   THE  GEEAT  SOUTH  BAY. 


Precious  qualities  of  silence  haunt 
Round  these  vast  margins  ministrant. 

'T  is  here,  'tis  here,  thou  canst  unhand  thy  heart 
And  breathe  it  free,  and  breathe  it  free 
By  rangy  marsh,  in  lone  sea-liberty. 

SIDNEY  LANIEB. 


LITTLE  BROTHERS  OF  THE  AIR. 


THE  KINGBIRD'S  NEST. 

To  study  a  nest  is  to  make  an  acquaintance. 
However  familiar  the  bird,  unless  the  student 
has  watched  its  ways  during  the  only  domestic 
period  of  its  life,  —  nesting  time,  —  he  has  still 
something  to  learn.  In  fact,  he  has  almost 
everything  to  learn,  for  into  those  few  weeks  is 
crowded  a  whole  lifetime  of  emotions  and  ex- 
periences which  fully  bring  out  the  individuality 
of  the  bird.  Family  life  is  a  test  of  character, 
no  less  in  the  nest  than  in  the  house.  More- 
over, to  a  devotee  of  the  science  that  some  one 
has  aptly  called  Ornithography,  nothing  is  so 
attractive.  What  hopes  it  holds  out!  Who 
can  guess  what  mysteries  shall  be  disclosed, 
what  interesting  episodes  of  life  shall  be  seen 
about  that  charmed  spot? 

To  find  a  newly  built  nest  is  the  first  June 
work  of  the  bird-student,  and  this  year  on  the 


2  THE  KINGBIKD'S  NEST. 

Great  South  Bay  a  particularly  inviting  one 
presented  itself,  on  the  top  branch  of  a  tall  oak- 
tree  near  my  6*km  of  rest."  It  was  in  plain 
sight  from  the  veranda.  The  builder  evidently 
cared  nothing  for  concealment,  and  relied,  with 
reason,  upon  its  inaccessible  position  for  safety. 
To  be  sure,  as  days  went  by  and  oak  leaves 
grew,  a  fair  screen  for  the  little  dwelling  was 
not  lacking ;  but  summer  breezes  were  kind,  and 
often  blew  them  aside,  and,  better  still,  from 
other  points  of  view  the  nest  was  never  hidden. 

To  whom,  then,  did  the  nest  belong  ?  I 
hoped  to  the  kingbird,  who  at  that  moment  sat 
demurely  upon  the  picket  fence  below,  appar- 
ently interested  only  in  passing  insects;  and 
while  I  looked  the  question  was  answered  by 
Madame  Tyrannis  herself,  who  came  with  the 
confidence  of  ownership,  carrying  a  beakful  of 
building  material,  and  arranging  it  with  great 
pains  inside  the  structure.  This  was  satisfac- 
tory, for  I  did  not  know  the  kingbird  in  do- 
mestic life. 

For  several  days  it  seemed  uncertain  whether 
the  kingbirds  would  ever  really  occupy  the  nest, 
so  spasmodic  was  the  work  upon  it.  Now  one  of 
the  pair  came  with  a  bit  of  something,  placed  it, 
tried  its  effect  this  way  and  that,  and  then  dis- 
appeared ;  while  for  hours  every  day  both  might 
be  seen  about  the  place,  hunting  insects  and  tak- 


THE  BANNER  ON  THE  WALLS.  3 

ing  their  ease  on  the  fence  as  if  no  thought  of 
nesting  ever  stirred  their  wise  little  heads.  The 
last  addition  to  the  domicile  was  curious :  a  soft 
white  feather  from  the  poultry  yard,  which  was 
fastened  up  on  the  edge,  and  stood  there  floating 
in  the  breeze;  a  white  banner  of  peace  flung 
out  to  the  world  from  her  castle  walls. 

Peace  from  a  kingbird?  Direful  tales  are 
told  of  this  bird:  uhe  is  pugnacious,"  says  one 
writer;  "he  fights  everybody,"  adds  another; 
"he  is  a  coward,"  remarks  a  third.  Science 
has  dubbed  him  tyrant  (Tyranms),  and  his  char- 
acter is  supposed  to  be  settled.  But  may  there 
not  be  two  sides  to  the  story?  We  shall  see. 
One  kingbird,  at  least,  shall  be  studied  sympa- 
thetically; we  shall  try  to  enter  his  life,  to 
judge  him  fairly,  and  shall  above  all 

"  bring  not 

The  fancies  found  in  books, 
Leave  author's  eyes,  and  fetch  our  own." 

Nearly  two  months  that  small  dwelling  on  the 
oak  was  watched,  day  after  day,  early  and  late, 
in  storm  and  in  sunshine ;  now  I  know  at  least 
one  family  of  kingbirds,  and  what  I  know  I  shall 
honestly  tell,  "nothing  extenuating." 

The  house  was  built,  the  season  was  passing, 
yet  housekeeping  did  not  begin.  The  birds,  in- 
deed, appeared  to  have  abandoned  the  tree,  and 
days  went  by  in  which  I  could  not  see  that  either 


4  THE  KINGBIRD'S  NEST. 

visited  it.  But  the  nest  was  not  deserted,  for 
all  that ;  the  curiosity  and  impertinence  of  the 
neighbors  were  simply  amazing.  (Perhaps  the 
kingbird  has  some  reason  to  be  pugnacious  !) 
No  sooner  was  that  tenement  finished  than,  as 
promptly  as  if  they  had  received  cards  to  a 
house-warming,  visitors  began  to  come.  First 
to  show  himself  was  an  orchard  oriole,  who  was 
in  the  habit  of  passing  over  the  yard  every  day 
and  stopping  an  hour  or  more  in  the  neighbor- 
hood, while  he  scrambled  over  the  trees,  varying 
his  lunches  with  a  rich  and  graceful  song.  Ar- 
rived this  morning  in  the  kingbird  tree,  he  be- 
gan his  usual  hunt  over  the  top  branch,  when 
suddenly  his  eye  fell  upon  the  kingbird  cradle. 
He  paused,  cast  a  wary  glance  about,  then 
dropped  to  a  lower  perch,  his  singing  ended,  his 
manner  guilty.  Nearer  and  nearer  he  drew, 
looking  cautiously  about  and  moving  in  perfect 
silence.  Still  the  owner  did  not  come,  and  at 
last  the  stranger  stood  upon  the  edge.  What 
joy  !  He  looked  that  mansion  over  from  foun- 
dation to  banner  fluttering  in  the  wind ;  he  ex- 
amined closely  its  construction;  with  head 
turned  over  one  side,  he  criticised  its  general 
effect,  and  apparently  did  not  think  much  of  it ; 
he  gratified  to  the  full  his  curiosity,  and  after 
about  one  minute's  study  flew  to  the  next  tree, 
and  resumed  his  singing. 


NEIGHBORHOOD  INTEREST.  5 

The  next  arrival  was  a  pewee,  whose  own  nest 
was  nearly  built,  in  a  wild-cherry  tree  not  far 
off.  The  fence  under  the  oak  was  his  usual 
perch,  and  it  was  plain  that  he  made  his  first 
call  with  "malice  aforethought;"  for,  disdain- 
ing the  smallest  pretense  of  interest  in  it,  he 
flew  directly  to  the  nest,  hovered  beneath  it,  and 
pulled  out  some  part  of  the  building  material 
that  pleased  his  fancy,  —  nothing  less  than  pure 
thievery. 

Among  the  occasional  visitors  to  the  yard 
were  two  American  goldfinches,  or  thistle -birds, 
in  bright  yellow  and  black  plumage,  both  males. 
They  also  went  to  the  new  homestead  in  the 
oak,  inspected  it,  chatted  over  it  in  their  sweet 
tones,  and  then  passed  on.  It  began  to  look  as 
though  the  nest  were  in  the  market  for  any  one 
to  choose,  and  the  string  of  company  was  not  yet 
ended. 

Soon  after  the  goldfinches  had  passed  by, 
there  alighted  a  gay  Baltimore  oriole,  who,  not 
content  with  looking  at  the  new  castle  in  the  air, 
must  needs  try  it.  He  actually  stepped  into  the 
nest  and  settled  down  as  if  sitting.  Who 
knows  but  he  was  experimenting  to  see  if  this 
simple,  wide-open  cradle  wouldn't  do  as  well 
for  oriole  babies  as  for  kingbirds?  Certainly 
it  was  a  curious  performance.  It  made  an  im- 
pression on  him  too,  for  the  next  day  he  came 


6  TIfE  KINGBIB&S  NEST. 

again ;  and  this  time  he  picked  at  it,  and  seemed 
to  be  changing  its  interior  arrangement,  but 
he  carried  nothing  away  when  he  flew.  Even 
after  sitting  began,  this  oriole  paid  two  more 
visits  to  the  nest  which  so  interested  him.  On 
the  first  occasion,  the  owner  was  at  home,  and 
gave  him  instant  notice  that  the  place  was  no 
longer  on  view.  He  retired,  but,  being  no  cow- 
ard, and  not  choosing  to  submit  to  dictation,  he 
came  again.  This  time,  a  fly-up  together,  a 
clinch  in  the  air,  with  loud  and  offensive  re- 
marks, cured  him  of  further  desire  to  call. 

More  persistent  than  any  yet  mentioned  was 
a  robin.  Heretofore,  strange  to  say,  the  guests 
had  ^all  been  males,  but  this  caller  was  the  mo- 
ther of  a  young  brood  in  the  next  yard.  She 
came  in  her  usual  way,  alighted  on  a  low  branch, 
ran  out  upon  it,  hopped  to  the  next  higher,  and 
so  proceeded  till  she  reached  the  nest.  The 
kingbird  happened  to  be  near  it  himself,  and 
drove  her  away  in  an  indifferent  manner,  as  if 
this  interloper  were  of  small  account.  The 
robin  went,  of  course,  but  returned,  and,  perch- 
ing close  to  the  object  of  interest,  leaned  over 
and  looked  at  it  as  long  as  she  chose,  while  the 
owner  stood  calmly  by  on  a  twig  and  did  not  in- 
terfere. I  know  he  was  not  afraid  of  the  robin, 
as  later  events  proved ;  and  it  really  looked  as  if 
the  pair  deliberately  delayed  sitting  to  give  the 


MADAM  TRIES  THE  NEST.      •  7 

neighborhood  a  chance  to  satisfy  its  curiosity; 
as  if  they  thus  proclaimed  to  whom  it  might  con- 
cern that  there  was  to  be  a  kingbird  household, 
that  they  might  view  it  at  their  leisure  before 
it  was  occupied,  but  after  that  no  guests  were 
desired.  Whatever  the  cause,  the  fact  is,  that 
once  completed,  the  nest  was  almost  entirely 
abandoned  by  the  builders  for  several  days,  dur- 
ing which  this  neighborhood  inspection  went  on. 
They  even  deserted  their  usual  hunting-ground, 
and  might  generally  be  seen  at  the  back  of  the 
house,  awaiting  their  prey  in  the  most  uncon- 
cerned manner. 

However,  time  was  passing,  and  one  day  Ma- 
dame Tyrannis  herself  began  to  call,  but  fitfully. 
Sometimes  she  stayed  about  the  nest  one  min- 
ute, sometimes  five  minutes,  but  was  restless; 
picking  at  the  walls,  twitching  the  leaves  that 
hung  too  near,  rearranging  the  lining,  trying  it 
this  way  and  that,  as  if  to  see  how  it  fitted  her 
figure,  and  how  she  should  like  it  when  she  was 
settled.  First  she  tried  sitting  with  face  look- 
ing toward  the  bay;  then  she  jerked  herself 
around,  without  rising,  and  looked  awhile  toward 
the  house.  She  had  as  much  trouble  to  get  mat- 
ters adjusted  to  her  mind  as  if  she  had  a  house- 
ful of  furniture  to  place,  with  carpets  to  lay, 
curtains  to  hang,  and  the  thousand  and  one 
"things"  with  which  we  bigger  housekeepers 


8  THE  KINGBIRD'S  NEST. 

cumber  ourselves  and  make  life  a  burden.  This 
spasmodic  visitation  went  on  for  days,  and  finally 
it  was  plain  that  sitting  had  begun.  Still  the 
birds  of  the  vicinity  were  interested  callers, 
and  I  began  to  think  that  one  kingbird  would 
not  even  protect  his  nest,  far  less  justify  his  rep- 
utation by  tyrannizing  over  the  feathered  world. 
But  when  his  mate  had  seriously  established 
herself,  it  was  time  for  the  head  of  the  household 
to  assume  her  defense,  and  he  did. 

As  usual,  the  kingbird  united  the  characters 
of  brave  defender  and  tender  lover.  To  his 
spouse  his  manners  were  charming.  When  he 
came  to  relieve  her  of  her  care,  to  give  her  exer- 
cise or  a  chance  for  luncheon,  he  greeted  her  with 
a  few  low  notes,  and  alighted  on  a  small  leafless 
twig  that  curved  up  about  a  foot  above  the  nest, 
and  made  a  perfect  watch-tower.  She  slipped 
off  her  seat  and  disappeared  for  about  six  min- 
utes. During  her  absence  he  stayed  at  his  post, 
sometimes  changing  his  perch  to  one  or  other  of 
half  a  dozen  leafless  branchlets  in  that  part  of 
the  tree,  and  there  sitting,  silent  and  watchful, 
ready  to  interview  any  stranger  who  appeared. 
Upon  her  return  he  again  saluted  her  with  a  few 
words,  adding  to  them  a  lifting  of  wings  and 
spreading  of  his  beautiful  tail  that  most  comi- 
cally suggested  the  bowing  and  hat-lifting  of 
bigger  gentlemen.  In  all  their  life  together, 


GEEETING  HIS  MATE.  9 

even  when  the  demands  of  three  infants  kept 
them  busy  from  morning  till  night,  he  never 
forgot  this  little  civility  to  his  helpmate.  If  she 
alighted  beside  him  on  the  fence,  he  rose  a  few 
inches  above  his  perch,  and  flew  around  in  a 
small  circle  while  greeting  her;  and  sometimes, 
on  her  return  to  the  nest,  he  described  a  larger 
circle,  talking  (as  I  must  call  it)  all  the  time. 
Occasionally,  when  she  approached,  he  flew  out 
to  meet  and  come  back  with  her,  as  if  to  escort 
her.  Could  this  bird,  to  his  mate  so  thoughtful 
and  polite,  be  to  the  rest  of  the  world  the  bully 
he  is  pictured?  Did  he,  who  for  ten  months  of 
the  year  shows  less  curiosity  about  others,  and 
attends  more  perfectly  to  his  own  business  than 
any  bird  I  have  noticed,  suddenly,  at  this  crisis 
in  his  life,  become  aggressive,  and  during  these 
two  months  of  love  and  paternity  and  hard  work, 
make  war  upon  a  peaceful  neighborhood  ? 

I  watched  closely.  There  was  not  an  hour  of 
the  day,  often  from  four  A.  M.  to  eight  P.  M., 
that  I  had  not  the  kingbird  and  his  nest  directly 
in  sight,  and  hardly  a  movement  of  his  life  es- 
caped me.  There  he  stood,  on  the  fence  under 
his  tree,  on  a  dead  bush  at  the  edge  of  the  bay, 
or  on  the  lowest  limb  of  a  small  pear-tree  in  the 
yard.  Sometimes  he  dashed  into  the  air  for  his 
prey;  sometimes  he  dropped  to  the  ground  to 
secure  it;  but  oftenest,  especially  when  baby 


10  THE  KINGBIRD'S  NEST. 

throats  grew  clamorous,  he  hovered  over  the 
rank  grass  on  the  low  land  of  the  shore,  wings 
beating,  tail  wide  spread,  diving  now  and  then 
for  an  instant  to  snatch  a  morsel;  and  every 
thirty  minutes,  as  punctually  as  if  he  carried  a 
watch  in  his  trim  white  vest,  he  took  a  direct 
line  for  the  home  where  his  mate  sat  waiting. 

A  few  days  after  the  little  dame  took  posses- 
sion of  the  nest,  the  kingbird  had  succeeded, 
without  much  trouble,  in  making  most  of  his 
fellow-creatures  understand  that  he  laid  claim 
to  the  upper  branches  of  the  oak,  and  was  pre- 
pared to  defend  them  against  all  comers,  and 
they  simply  gave  the  tree  a  wide  berth  in  pass- 
ing. 

Apparently  deceived  by  his  former  indiffer- 
ence, however,  the  robin  above  mentioned  pre- 
sumed to  call  somewhat  later.  This  time  she 
was  received  in  a  manner  that  plainly  showed 
she  was  no  longer  welcome.  She  retired,  but 
she  expressed  her  mind  freely  for  some  time,  sit- 
ting on  the  fence  below.  With  true  robin  per- 
sistence she  did  not  give  it  up,  and  she  selected 
for  her  next  call  the  dusk  of  evening,  just  before 
going  to  bed. 

This  time  both  kingbirds  flung  themselves 
after  her,  and  she  left,  "laughing"  as  she  went. 
The  kingbirds  did  not  follow  beyond  their  own 
borders,  and  the  robin  soon  returned  to  the  near- 


THE  HOBIN  SPEAKS  HER  MIND.          11 

est  tree,  where  she  kept  up  the  taunting  "he! 
he !  he !  "  a  long  time,  seemingly  with  deliberate 
intention  to  insult  or  enrage  her  pursuers,  but 
without  success ;  for  unless  she  came  to  their  tree, 
the  kingbirds  paid  her  not  the  slightest  atten- 
tion. 

The  last  time  the  robin  tried  to  be  on  friendly 
terms  with  her  neighbor,  I  noticed  her  stand- 
ing near  him  on  the  picket  fence  under  his  tree. 
There  were  not  more  than  three  pickets  between 
them,  and  she  was  expostulating  earnestly,  with 
flirting  tail  and  jerking  wings,  and  with  loud 
"tut  !  tut's,"  and  uhe  !  he's  !  "  she  managed  to 
be  very  eloquent.  Had  he  driven  her  from  his 
nest?  and  was  she  complaining?  I  could  only 
guess.  The  kingbird  did  not  reply  to  her,  but 
when  she  flew  he  followed,  and  she  did  not  cease 
telling  him  what  she  thought  of  him  as  she  flew, 
till  out  of  sight. 

Strangest  of  all  was  the  fact  that,  during  the 
whole  of  this  scene,  her  mate  stood  on  the  fence 
within  a  dozen  feet,  and  looked  on!  Did  he 
think  her  capable  of  managing  her  own  affairs? 
Did  he  prefer  to  be  on  good  terms  with  his  pep- 
pery neighbor?  or  was  it  because  with  her  it 
would  be  a  war  of  words,  while  if  he  entered  the 
arena  it  must  be  a  fight?  as  we  sometimes  see, 
when  a  man  goes  home  fighting  drunk,  every 
man  of  the  neighborhood  keeps  out  of  sight, 


12  THE  KINGBIRD'S  NEST. 

while  all  the  women  go  out  and  help  his  wife  to 
get  him  home.  The  most  troublesome  meddler 
was,  as  might  be  expected,  an  English  sparrow. 
From  the  time  when  the  first  stick  was  laid  till 
the  babies  were  grown  and  had  left  the  tree,  that 
bird  never  ceased  to  intrude  and  annoy.  He 
visited  the  nest  when  empty ;  he  managed  to  have 
frequent  peeps  at  the  young ;  and  notwithstand- 
ing he  was  driven  off  every  time,  he  still  hung 
around,  with  prying  ways  so  exasperating  that 
he  well  deserved  a  thrashing,  and  I  wonder  he 
did  not  get  it.  He  was  driven  away  repeat- 
edly, and  he  was  "picked  off"  from  below,  and 
pounced  upon  from  above,  but  he  never  failed  to 
return. 

Another  visitor  of  whom  the  kingbird  seemed 
suspicious  was  a  purple  crow  blackbird,  who 
every  day  passed  over.  This  bird  and  the  com- 
mon crow  were  the  only  ones  he  drove  away 
without  waiting  for  them  to  alight ;  and  if  half 
that  is  told  of  them  be  true,  he  had  reason  to 
do  so. 

With  none  of  these  intruders  had  the  king- 
bird any  quarrel  when  away  from  his  nest.  The 
blackbird,  to  whom  he  showed  the  most  violence, 
hunted  peacefully  beside  him  on  the  grass  all 
day;  the  robin  alighted  near  him  on  the  fence, 
as  usual;  the  orioles  scrambled  over  the  neigh- 
boring trees,  singing  and  eating,  as  was  their 


BAD-WEATHEE  MANNERS.  13 

custom;  even  the  English  sparrow  carried  on 
his  vulgar  squabbles  on  his  own  branch  of  the 
oak  all  day ;  but  to  none  of  them  did  the  king- 
bird pay  the  slightest  attention.  He  simply  and 
solely  defended  his  own  household. 

In  the  beginning  the  little  dame  took  sitting 
very  easy,  fidgeting  about  in  the  nest,  standing 
up  to  dress  her  feathers,  stretching  her  neck  to 
see  what  went  on  in  the  yard  below,  and  step- 
ping out  upon  a  neighboring  twig  to  rest  herself. 
After  a  few  days  she  settled  more  seriously  to 
work,  and  became  very  quiet  and  patient.  Her 
mate  never  brought  food  to  her,  nor  did  he  once 
take  her  place  in  the  nest ;  not  even  during  a 
furious  northeast  gale  that  turned  June  into 
November,  and  lasted  thirty-six  hours,  most  of 
the  time  with  heavy  rain,  when  the  top  branch 
bent  and  tossed,  and  threatened  every  moment  a 
catastrophe.  In  the  house,  fires  were  built  and 
books  and  work  brought  out ;  but  the  bird-stu- 
dent, wrapped  in  heavy  shawls,  kept  close  watch 
from  an  open  window,  and  noted  well  the  bad- 
weather  manners  of  Tyrannis.  Madame  sat  very 
close,  head  to  the  northeast,  and  tail,  narrowed 
to  the  width  of  one  feather,  pressed  against  a 
twig  that  grew  up  behind  the  nest.  All  through 
the  storm,  I  think  the  head  of  the  family  re- 
mained in  a  sheltered  part  of  the  tree,  but  he 
did  not  come  to  the  usual  twigs  which  were  so 


14  THE  KINGBIRD'S  NEST. 

exposed.  I  know  he  was  near,  for  I  heard  him, 
and  occasionally  saw  him  standing  with  body 
horizontal  instead  of  upright,  as  usual,  the  bet- 
ter to  maintain  his  position  against  the  wind. 
At  about  the  ordinary  intervals  the  sitter  left  her 
nest,  without  so  much  as  a  leaf  to  cover  it,  and 
was  absent  perhaps  half  as  long  as  common,  but 
not  once  did  her  mate  assume  her  post. 

How  were  this  pair  distinguished  from  each 
other,  since  there  is  no  difference  in  their  dress? 
First,  by  a  fortunate  peculiarity  of  marking  ; 
the  male  had  one  short  tail  feather,  that,  when 
he  was  resting,  showed  its  white  tip  above  the 
others,  and  made  a  perfectly  distinct  and  (with  a 
glass)  plainly  visible  mark.  Later,  when  I  had 
become  familiar  with  the  very  different  manners 
of  the  pair,  I  did  not  need  this  mark  to  distin- 
guish the  male,  though  it  remained  en  evidence 
all  through  the  two  months  I  had  them  under 
observation. 

During  the  period  of  sitting,  life  went  on  with 
great  regularity.  The  protector  of  the  nest 
perched  every  night  in  a  poplar-tree  across  the 
yard,  and  promptly  at  half  past  four  o'clock 
every  morning  began  his  matins.  Surprised  and 
interested  by  an  unfamiliar  song,  I  rose  one  day 
at  that  unnatural  hour  to  trace  it  home.  It 
was  in  that  enchanting  time  when  men  are  still 
asleep  in  their  nests,  and  even  "My  Lord  Sun  " 


SONG  OF  THE  KINGBIRD.  15 

has  not  arisen  from  his ;  when  the  air  is  sweet 
and  fresh,  and  as  free  from  the  dust  of  man's 
coming  and  going  as  if  his  tumults  did  not  exist. 
It  was  so  still  that  the  flit  of  a  wing  was  almost 
startling.  The  water  lapped  softly  against  the 
shore;  but  who  can 

"  Write  in  a  book  the  morning's  prime, 
Or  match  with  words  that  tender  sky  "  ? 

The  song  that  had  called  me  up  was  a  sweet 
though  simple  strain,  and  it  was  repeated  every 
morning  while  his  mate  was  separated  from  him 
by  her  nest  duties.  I  can  find  no  mention  of  it 
in  books,  but  I  had  many  opportunities  to  study 
it,  and  thus  it  was.  It  began  with  a  low  king- 
bird uKr-r-r"  (or  rolling  sound  impossible  to 
express  by  letters),  without  which  I  should  not 
have  identified  it  at  first,  and  it  ended  with  a 
very  sweet  call  of  two  notes,  five  tones  apart, 
the  lower  first,  after  a  manner  suggestive  of  the 
phoebe  —  something  like  this:  " Kr-r-r-r-r-ree- 
be !  Kr-r-r-r-r-ree-be !  "  In  the  outset,  and  I 
think  I  heard  the  very  first  attempt,  it  resem- 
bled the  initial  efforts  of  cage -birds,  when 
spring  tunes  their  throats.  The  notes  seemed 
hard  to  get  out;  they  were  weak,  uncertain, 
fluttering,  as  if  the  singer  were  practicing  some- 
thing quite  new.  But  as  the  days  went  by  they 
grew  strong  and  assured,  and  at  last  were  a  joy- 
ous and  loud  morning  greeting.  I  don't  know 


16  THE  KINGBIRD'S  NEST. 

why  I  should  be  so  surprised  to  hear  a  kingbird 
sing,  for  I  believe  that  one  of  the  things  we  shall 
discover,  when  we  begin  to  study  birds  alive  in- 
stead of  dead,  is  that  every  one  has  a  song,  at 
least  in  spring,  when,  in  the  words  of  an  enthu- 
siastic bird -lover,  "the  smallest  become  poets, 
often  sublime  songsters."  I  have  already  heard 
several  sing  that  are  set  down  as  lacking  in  that 
mode  of  expression. 

To  return  to  my  kingbird,  struggling  with  his 
early  song.  After  practicing  perhaps  fifteen  or 
twenty  minutes,  he  left  his  perch,  flew  across 
the  yard,  and  circled  around  the  top  bough,  with 
his  usual  good-morning  to  his  partner,  who  at 
once  slipped  off  and  went  for  her  breakfast, 
while  he  stayed  to  watch  the  nest. 

This  magic  dawn  could  not  last.  It  grew 
lighter ;  the  sun  was  bestirring  himself.  I  heard 
oars  on  the  bay ;  and  now  that  the  sounds  of 
men  began,  the  robin  mounted  the  fence  and 
sang  his  waking  song.  The  rogue  !  —  he  had 
been  "laughing"  and  shouting  for  an  hour. 
"Awake!  awake  !  "  he  seemed  to  say;  and  on 
our  dreamy  beds  we  hear  him,  and  think  it  the 
first  sound  of  the  new  day.  Then,  too,  came 
the  jubilee  of  the  English  sparrow,  welcoming 
the  appearance  of  mankind,  whose  waste  and 
improvidence  supply  so  easily  his  larder.  Why 
should  he  spend  his  time  hunting  insects  ?  The 


CHARACTER  OF  ONE  KINGBIRD.         17 

kitchen  will  open,  the  dining-room  follows,  and 
crumbs  are  sure  to  result.  He  wilt  wait,  and 
meanwhile  do  his  best  to  waken  his  purveyor. 

I  found  this  to  be  the  almost  invariable  pro- 
gramme of  kingbird  life  at  this  period:  after 
matins,  the  singer  flew  to  the  nest  tree,  and  his 
spouse  went  to  her  breakfast;  in  a  few  seconds 
he  dropped  to  the  edge  of  the  nest,  looked  long 
and  earnestly  at  the  contents,  then  flew  to  one 
of  his  usual  perching-places  near  by,  and  re- 
mained in  silence  till  he  saw  the  little  mother 
coming.  During  the  day  he  relieved  her  at  the 
intervals  mentioned,  and  at  night,  when  she  had 
settled  to  rest,  he  stayed  at  his  post  on  the  fence 
till  almost  too  dark  to  be  seen,  and  then  took 
his  way,  with  a  good-night  greeting,  to  his  sleep- 
ing-place on  the  poplar. 

Thus  matters  went  through  June  till  the  29th, 
when,  at  about  four  o'clock  in  the  afternoon, 
there  was  an  unusual  stir  about  the  kingbird 
castle.  I  saw  that  something  had  happened,  and 
this  must  open  a  new  chapter.  But  before  be- 
ginning the  chronicle  of  the  kingbird  babies,  I 
should  like  to  give  my  testimony  about  one  mem- 
ber of  the  family.  As  a  courteous  and  tender 
spouse,  as  a  devoted  father  and  a  brave  defender 
of  his  household,  I  know  no  one  who  outranks' 
him.  In  attending  to  his  own  business  and 
never  meddling  with  others,  he  is  unexcelled. 


18  THE  KINGBIRD'S  NEST. 

In  regard  to  his  fighting,  he  has  driven  many 
away  from  his  tree,  as  do  all  birds,  but  he  never 
sought  a  quarrel ;  and  the  only  cases  of  anything 
like  a  personal  encounter  were  with  the  two 
birds  who  insisted  on  annoying  him.  He  is 
chivalrous  to  young  birds  not  his  own,  as  will 
appear  in  the  story  of  his  family.  He  is,  in- 
deed, usually  silent,  perhaps  even  solemn,  but 
he  may  well  be  so ;  he  has  an  important  duty  to 
perform  in  the  world,  and  one  that  should  bring 
him  thanks  and  protection  inst^d  of  scorn  and 
a  bad  name.  It  is  to  reduce  the  number  of 
man's  worst  enemies,  the  vast  army  of  insects. 
What  we  owe  to  the  fly-catchers,  indeed,  we 
can  never  guess,  although,  if  we  go  on  destroy- 
ing them,  we  may  have  our  eyes  opened  most 
thoroughly.  Even  if  the  most  serious  charge 
against  the  kingbird  is  true,  that  he  eats  bees, 
it  were  better  that  every  bee  on  the  face  of  the 
earth  should  perish  than  that  his  efficient  work 
among  other  insects  should  be  stopped. 


II. 

A   CHRONICLE   OF   THREE   LITTLE   KINGS. 

THERE  was 

"  Riot  of  roses  and  babel  of  birds, 
All  the      ^rld  in  a  whirl  of  delight," 

when  the  three  baby  kingbirds  opened  their 
eyes  to  the  June  sunlight.  Three  weeks  I  had 
watched,  if  I  had  not  assisted  at,  the  rocking  of 
their  cradle,  followed  day  by  day  the  patient 
brooding,  and  carefully  noted  the  manners  and 
customs  of  the  owners  thereof.  At  last  my  long 
vigil  was  rewarded.  It  was  near  the  end  of  a 
lovely  June  day,  when  June  days  were  nearly 
over,  that  there  appeared  a  gentle  excitement  in 
the  kingbird  family.  The  faithful  sitter  arose, 
with  a  peculiar  cry  that  brought  her  mate  at 
once  to  her  side,  and  both  looked  eagerly  together 
into  the  nest  that  held  their  hopes.  Once  or 
twice  the  little  dame  leaned  over  and  made  some 
arrangements  within,  and  then  suddenly  she 
slipped  back  into  her  place,  and  her  spouse  flew 
away.  But  something  had  happened,  it  was 
plain  to  see;  for  from  that  moment  she  did  not 


20     A  CHRONICLE  OF  THREE  LITTLE  KINGS. 

sit  so  closely,  her  mate  showed  unusual  interest 
in  the  nest,  and  both  of  them  often  stood  upon 
the  edge  at  the  same  time.  That  day  was  doubt- 
less the  birthday  of  the  first  little  king. 

To  be  sure,  the  careful  mother  still  sat  on  the 
nest  part  of  every  day,  but  that  she  continued 
to  do,  with  ever -lengthening  intervals,  till  every 
infant  had  grown  up  and  left  the  homestead  for- 
ever. 

All  through  the  sitting  the  work  of  the  head 
of  the  family  had  been  confined  to  encouraging 
his  partner  with  an  early  morning  song  and  his 
cheerful  presence  during  the  day,  and  to  guard- 
ing the  nest  while  she  sought  her  food ;  but  now 
that  her  most  fatiguing  labor  was  over,  his 
began.  At  first  he  took  entire  charge  of  the 
provision  supply,  while  she  kept  her  nurslings 
warm  and  quiet,  which  every  mother,  little  or 
big,  knows  is  of  great  importance.  When  the 
young  father  arrived  with  food,  which  he  did 
frequently,  his  spouse  stepped  to  the  nearest 
twig  and  looked  on  with  interest,  while  he 
leaned  over  and  filled  one  little  mouth,  or  at  any 
rate  administered  one  significant  poke  which 
must  be  thus  interpreted.  He  did  not  stay  long ; 
indeed,  he  had  not  time,  for  this  way  of  supply- 
ing the  needs  of  a  family  is  slow  business ;  and 
although  there  were  but  three  mouths  to  fill, 
three  excursions  and  three  hunts  were  required  to 


BIRD  BABY-TALK.  21 

fill  them.  In  the  early  morning  he  seemed  to 
have  more  leisure ;  at  that  time,  the  happy  young 
couple  stood  one  each  side  of  the  nest,  and  the 
silent  listener  would  hear  the  gentle  murmurs  of 
what  Victor  Hugo  calls  "the  airy  dialogues  of 
the  nest."  Ah,  that  our  dull  ears  could  under- 
stand !  * 

For  some  days  the  homestead  was  never  left 
alone,  and  the  summer  breezes 

"  Softly  rocked  the  babies  three, 
Nestled  under  the  mother's  wing," 

almost  as  closely  as  before  they  came  out  of  the 
egg.  But  much  of  the  time  she  sat  on  the  edge, 
while  her  partner  came  and  went,  always  linger- 
ing a  moment  to  look  in.  It  was  pretty  to  see 
him  making  up  his  mind  where  to  put  the  mor- 
sel, so  small  that  it  did  not  show  in  the  beak. 
He  turned  his  head  one  side  and  then  the  other, 
considered,  decided,  and  at  last  thrust  it  in  the 
selected  mouth. 

The  resting-time  of  the  newly  made  matron 
was  short ;  for  when  those  youngsters  were  four 
days  old  —  so  fast  do  birdlings  grow  —  the  labor 
of  both  parents  was  required  to  keep  them  fed. 
Every  ten  minutes  of  the  day  one  of  the  pair 
came  to  the  nest :  the  father  invariably  alighted, 
deliberated,  fed,  and  then  flew ;  while  the  mother 
administered  her  mouthful,  and  then  either 
slipped  into  the  nest,  covering  her  bantlings 


22    A  CHEON1CLE  OF  THEEE  LITTLE  KINGS. 

completely,  or  rested  upon  the  edge  for  several 
minutes.  There  was  always  a  marked  differ- 
ence in  the  conduct  of  the  pair. 

Six  days  the  kingbird  babies  were  unseen 
from  below ;  but  on  the  seventh  day  of  their  life 
two  downy  gray  caps  were  lifted  above  the  edge 
of  the  dwelling,  accompanied  by  two  small  yel- 
low beaks,  half  open  for  what  goods  the  gods 
might  provide.  After  that  event,  whenever  the 
tender  mother  sat  on  her  nest,  two  —  and  later 
three  —  little  heads  showed  plainly  against  her 
satiny  white  breast,  as  if  they  were  resting  there, 
making  a  lovely  picture  of  motherhood. 

Not  for  many  days  lasted  the  open -mouth  baby 
stage  in  these  rapidly  developing  youngsters. 
Very  soon  they  were  pert  and  wide  awake,  look- 
ing upon  the  green  world  about  them  with  calm 
eyes,  and  opening  mouths  only  when  food  was  to 
be  expected.  Mouthfuls,  too,  were  no  longer  of 
the  minute  order;  they  were  large  enough  for 
the  parents  themselves,  and  of  course  plain  to 
be  seen.  Sometimes,  indeed,  as  in  the  case  of  a 
big  dragon-fly,  the  father  was  obliged  to  hold 
on,  while  the  young  hopeful  pulled  off  piece 
after  piece,  until  it  was  small  enough  for  him  to 
manage;  occasionally,  too,  when  the  morsel  was 
particularly  hard,  the  little  king  passed  it  back 
to  the  giver,  who  stood  waiting,  and  received 
it  again  when  it  had  been  apparently  crushed 


WAE  ON   THE  INSECTS.  23 

or  otherwise  prepared,  so  that  he  could  swal- 
low it. 

Midsummer  was  at  hand.  The  voices  of 
young  birds  were  heard  on  every  side.  The 
young  thrasher  and  the  robin  chirped  in  the 
grove;  sweet  bluebird  and  pewee  baby  cries 
came  from  the  shrubbery;  the  golden-wing 
leaned  far  out  of  his  oaken  walls,  and  called 
from  morning  to  night.  Hard-working  parents 
rushed  hither  and  thither,  snatching,  digging, 
or  dragging  their  prey  from  every  imaginable 
hiding-place.  It  was  woful  times  in  the  insect 
world,  so  many  new  hungry  mouths  to  be  filled. 
All  this  life  seemed  to  stir  the  young  kings :  they 
grew  restless;  they  were  late.  Their  three  lit- 
tle heads,  growing  darker  every  day,  bobbed  this 
way  and  that ;  they  changed  places  in  the  nest ; 
they  thrust  out  small  wings;  above  all  and 
through  all,  they  violently  preened  themselves. 
In  fact,  this  elaborate  dressing  of  feathers  was 
their  constant  business  for  so  long  a  time  that  I 
thought  it  no  wonder  the  grown-up  kingbird 
pays  little  attention  to  his  dress;  he  does 
enough  pluming  in  the  nursery  to  last  a  lifetime. 

On  the  twelfth  day  of  their  life,  the  young 
birds  added  their  voices  to  the  grand  world- 
chorus  in  a  faint,  low  "che-up,"  delivered  with 
a  kingbird  accent ;  then,  also,  they  began  to  sit 
up  calmly,  and  look  over  the  edge  of  the  nest  at 


24     A  CHRONICLE  OF  THREE  LITTLE  KINGS. 

what  went  on  below,  quite  in  the  manner  of 
their  fathers.  Two  days  later,  the  first  little 
king  mounted  the  walls  of  his  castle,  fluttered 
his  wings,  and  apparently  meditated  the  grand 
plunge  into  the  world  outside  of  home.  So  ab- 
sorbed was  he  in  his  new  emotions  that  he  did 
not  see  the  arrival  of  something  to  eat,  and  put 
in  a  claim  for  his  share,  as  usual.  I  thought  he 
was  about  to  bid  farewell  to  his  birthplace. 
But  I  did  not  know  him.  Not  till  the  youngest 
of  the  family  was  ready  to  go  did  he  step  out  of 
the  nest,  —  the  three  were  inseparable.  While 
I  waited,  expecting  every  moment  to  see  him  fly, 
there  was  a  sudden  change  in  the  air,  and  very 
shortly  a  furious  storm  of  wind  and  rain  broke 
over  us.  Instantly  every  young  bird  subsided 
into  the  nest,  out  of  sight ;  and  in  a  few  minutes 
their  mother  came,  and  gave  them  the  protection 
of  her  presence. 

Several  days  were  spent  by  the  oak-tree  house- 
hold in  shaking  out  the  wings,  taking  observa- 
tions of  the  world,  dressing  the  feathers,  and 
partaking  of  luncheon  every  few  minutes.  Such 
a  nestful  of  restlessness  I  never  saw;  the  con- 
stant wonder  was  that  they  managed  not  to  fall 
out.  Often  the  three  sat  up  side  by  side  on  the 
edge,  white  breasts  shining  in  the  sun,  and 
heads  turning  every  way  with  evident  interest. 
The  dress  was  now  almost  exactly  like  the  par- 


IN  FULL  DRESS.  25 

ents'.  No  speckled  bib,  like  the  bluebird  or 
robin  infant's,  defaces  the  snowy  breast;  no 
ugly  gray  coat,  like  the  redwing  baby's,  obscures 
the  beauty  of  the  little  kingbird's  attire.  He 
enters  society  in  full  dress. 

But  each  day,  now,  the  trio  grew  in  size,  in 
repose  of  manner,  and  in  strength  of  voice ;  and 
before  long  they  sat  up  hours  at  a  time,  patient, 
silent,  and  ludicrously  resembling  the 

u  Three  wise  men  of  Gotham 
Who  went  to  sea  in  a  bowl." 

In  spite  of  their  grown-up  looks  and  manners, 
they  did  not  lose  their  appetite ;  and  from  break- 
fast, at  the  unnatural  hour  of  half  past  four  in 
the  morning,  till  a  late  supper,  when  so  dark 
that  I  could  see  only  the  movement  of  feeding 
like  a  silhouette  against  the  white  clouds,  all 
through  the  day,  food  came  to  the  nest  every  two 
minutes  or  less.  Think  of  the  work  of  those 
two  birds!  Every  mouthful  brought  during 
those  fifteen  and  a  half  hours  required  a  separate 
hunt.  They  usually  flew  out  to  a  strip  of  low 
land,  where  the  grass  was  thick  and  high.  Over 
this  they  hovered  with  beautiful  motion,  and 
occasionally  dropped  an  instant  into  the  grass. 
The  capture  made,  they  started  at  once  for  the 
nest,  resting  scarcely  a  moment.  There  were 
thus  between  three  and  four  hundred  trips  a 
day,  and  of  course  that  number  of  insects  were 


26     A  CHRONICLE  OF  THREE  LITTLE  KINGS. 

destroyed.  Even  after  the  salt  bath,  which  one 
bird  took  always  about  eleven  in  the  morning, 
and  the  other  about  four  in  the  afternoon,  they 
did  not  stop  to  dry  their  plumage ;  but  simply 
passed  the  wing  feathers  through  the  beak,  pay- 
ing no  attention  to  the  breast  feathers,  which 
often  hung  in  locks,  showing  the  dark  part  next 
the  body,  and  so  disguising  the  birds  that  I 
scarcely  knew  them  when  they  came  to  the  nest. 

The  bath  was  interesting.  The  river,  so 
called,  was  in  fact  an  arm  of  the  Great  South 
Bay,  and  of  course  salt.  To  get  a  bath,  the  bird 
flew  directly  into  the  water,  as  if  after  a  fish ; 
then  came  to  the  fence  to  shake  himself.  Some- 
times the  dip  was  repeated  once  or  twice,  but 
more  often  bathing  ended  with  a  single  plunge. 

Two  weeks  had  passed  over  their  heads,  and 
the  three  little  kings  had  for  several  days  dallied 
with  temptation  on  the  brink  before  one  set  foot 
outside  the  nest.  Even  then,  on  the  fifteenth 
day,  he  merely  reached  the  doorstep,  as  it  were, 
the  branch  on  which  it  rested.  However,  that 
was  a  great  advance.  He  shook  himself  thor- 
oughly, as  if  glad  to  have  room  to  do  so.  This 
venturesome  infant  hopped  about  four  inches 
from  the  walls  of  the  cottage,  looked  upon  the 
universe  from  that  remote  point,  then  hurried 
back  to  his  brothers,  evidently  frightened  at  his 
own  boldness. 


A  NURSERY  LESSON.  27 

On  the  day  of  this  first  adventure  began  a 
mysterious  performance,  the  meaning  of  which  I 
did  not  understand  till  later,  when  it  became 
very  familiar.  It  opened  with  a  peculiar  call, 
and  its  object  was  to  rouse  the  young  to  follow. 
So  remarkable  was  the  effect  upon  them  that  I 
have  no  doubt  a  mob  of  kingbirds  could  be 
brought  together  by  its  means.  It  began,  as  I 
said,  with  a  call,  a  low,  prolonged  cry,  sound 
ing,  as  nearly  as  letters  can  express  it,  like 
"Kr-r-r-r!  Kr-r-r-r!  "  At  the  same  moment, 
both  parents  flew  in  circles  around  the  tree,  a 
little  above  the  nest,  now  and  then  almost  touch- 
ing it,  and  all  the  time  uttering  the  strange  cry. 
At  the  first  sound,  the  three  young  kings 
mounted  the  edge,  wildly  excited,  dressing  their 
plumage  in  the  most  frantic  manner,  as  if  their 
lives  depended  on  being  off  in  an  instant.  It 
lasted  but  a  few  moments:  the  parents  flew 
away;  the  youngsters  calmed  down. 

In  a  short  time  all  the  nestlings  were  accus- 
tomed to  going  out  upon  the  branch,  where  they 
clustered  together  in  a  little  row,  and  called 
and  plumed  alternately;  but  one  after  another 
slipped  back  into  the  dear  old  home,  which  they 
apparently  found  it  very  hard  to  leave.  Often, 
upon  coming  out  of  the  house,  after  the  impera- 
tive demands  of  luncheon  or  dinner  had  dragged 
me  for  a  time  away  from  my  absorbing  study, 


28     A  CHEONICLE  OF  THREE  LITTLE  KINGS. 

not  a  kingbird,  old  or  young,  could  be  seen. 
The  oak  was  deserted,  the  nest  perfectly  silent. 

"They  have  flown  !  "  I  thought. 

But  no :  in  a  few  minutes  small  heads  began 
to  show  above  the  battlements ;  and  in  ten  sec- 
onds after  the  three  little  kings  were  all  in  sight, 
chirping  and  arranging  their  dress  with  fresh 
vigor,  after  their  nap. 

Not  one  of  the  young  family  tried  his  wings 
till  he  was  seventeen  days  old.  The  first  one 
flew  perhaps  fifteen  feet,  to  another  branch  of 
the  native  tree,  caught  at  a  cluster  of  leaves, 
held  on  a  few  seconds,  then  scrambled  to  a  twig 
and  stood  up.  The  first  flight  accomplished! 
After  resting  some  minutes,  he  flew  back  home, 
alighting  more  easily  this  time,  and  no  doubt 
considered  himself  a  hero.  Whatever  his  feel- 
ings, it  was  evident  that  he  could  fly,  and  he 
was  so  pleased  with  his  success  that  he  tried  it 
again  and  again,  always  keeping  within  ten  or 
fifteen  feet  of  home.  Soon  his  nest-fellows  be- 
gan to  follow  his  example ;  and  then  it  was  in- 
teresting to  see  them,  now  scattered  about  the 
broad  old  tree,  and  then,  in  a  little  time,  all 
back  in  the  nest,  as  if  they  had  never  left  it. 
After  each  excursion  came  a  long  rest,  and  every 
time  they  went  out  they  flew  with  more  free- 
dom. Never  were  young  birds  so  loath  to  leave 
the  nursery,  and  never  were  little  folk  so  clan- 


THE  FIEST  NIGHT  OUT.  29 

nish.  It  looked  as  if  they  had  resolved  to 
make  that  homestead  on  the  top  branch  their 
headquarters  for  life,  and,  above  all,  never  to 
separate.  That  night,  however,  came  the  first 
break,  and  they  slept  in  a  droll  little  row,  so  close 
that  they  looked  as  if  welded  into  one,  and  about 
six  feet  from  home.  For  some  time  after  they 
had  settled  themselves  the  mother  sat  by  them, 
as  if  she  intended  to  stay;  but  when  it  had 
grown  quite  dark,  her  mate  sailed  out  over  the 
tree  calling;  and  she, — well,  the  babies  were 
grown  up  enough  to  be  out  in  the  world,  -• —  she 
went  with  her  spouse  to  the  poplar-tree. 

Progress  was  somewhat  more  rapid  after  this 
experience,  and  in  a  day  or  two  the  little  kings 
were  flying  freely,  by  short  flights,  all  about  the 
grove,  which  came  quite  up  to  the  fence.  Now 
I  saw  the  working  of  the  strange  migrating  call 
above  mentioned.  Whenever  the  old  birds  be- 
gan the  cries  and  the  circling  flight,  the  young 
were  thrown  into  a  fever  of  excitement.  One 
after  another  flew  out,  calling  and  moving  in 
circles  as  long  as  he  could  keep  it  up.  For  five 
minutes  the  air  was  full  of  kingbird  cries,  both 
old  and  young,  and  then  fell  a  sudden  silence. 
Each  young  bird  dropped  to  a  perch,  and  the 
elders  betook  themselves  to  their  hunting-ground 
as  calmly  as  if  they  had  not  been  stirring  up  a 
rout  in  the  family.  Usually,  at  the  end  of  the 


30    A  CHRONICLE  OF  THREE  LITTLE  KINGS. 

affair,  the  youngsters  found  themselves  widely 
apart;  for  they  had  not  yet  learned  to  fly  to- 
gether, and  to  be  apart  was,  above  all  things, 
repugnant  to  the  three.  They  began  calling; 
and  the  sound  was  potent  to  reunite  them. 
From  this  side  and  that,  by  easy  stages,  came  a 
little  kingbird,  each  flight  bringing  them  nearer 
each  other ;  and  before  two  minutes  had  passed 
they  were  nestled  side  by  side,  as  close  as  ever. 
There  they  sat  an  hour  or  two  and  uttered  their 
cries,  and  there  they  were  hunted  up  and  fed  by 
the  parents.  There,  I  almost  believe,  they  would 
have  stayed  till  doomsday,  but  for  the  periodical 
stirring  up  by  the  mysterious  call.  No  matter 
how  far  they  wandered,  —  and  each  day  it  was 
farther  and  farther,  —  seven  o'clock  always 
found  them  moving;  and  all  three  came  back  to 
the  native  tree  for  the  night,  though  never  to 
the  nest  again. 

No  characteristic  of  the  young  kingbirds  was 
more  winning  than  their  confiding  and  unsus- 
picious reception  of  strangers,  for  so  soon  as 
they  began  to  frequent  other  trees  than  the  one 
the  paternal  vigilance  had  made  comparatively 
sacred  to  them,  they  were  the  subjects  of  atten- 
tion. The  English  sparrow  was  first,  as  usual, 
to  inquire  into  their  right  to  be  out  of  their  own 
tree.  He  came  near  them,  alighted,  and  began 
to  hop  still  closer.  Not  in  the  least  startled  by 


IMPERTINENCE  OF  A   VIBEO.  31 

his  threatening  manner,  the  nearest  youngster 
looked  at  him,  and  began  to  flutter  his  wings,  to 
call,  and  to  move  toward  him,  as  if  expecting  to 
be  fed.  This  was  too  much  even  for  a  sparrow ; 
he  departed. 

Another  curious  visitor  was  a  red-eyed  vireo., 
who,  being  received  in  the  same  innocent  and 
childlike  way,  also  took  his  leave.  But  this 
bird  appeared  to  feel  insulted,  and  in  a  few 
minutes  stole  back,  and  took  revenge  in  a  most 
peculiar  way;  he  hovered  under  the  twig  on 
which  the  three  were  sitting,  their  dumpy  tails 
hanging  down  in  a  row,  and  actually  twitched 
the  feathers  of  those  tails !  Even  that  did  not 
frighten  the  little  ones;  they  leaned  far  over 
and  stared  at  their  assailant,  but  nothing  more. 
I  looked  carefully  to  see  if  the  vireo  had  a  nest 
on  that  tree,  so  strange  a  thing  it  seemed  for  a 
bird  to  do.  The  tree  was  quite  tall,  with  few 
branches,  an  oak  grown  in  a  close  grove,  and  I 
am  sure  there  was  no  vireo  nest  on  it;  so  that  it 
was  an  absolutely  gratuitous  insult. 

In  addition  to  supplying  the  constantly  grow- 
ing appetites  of  the  family,  the  male  kingbird 
did  not  forget  to  keep  a  sharp  lookout  for  in- 
truders; for,  until  the  youngsters  could  take 
care  of  themselves,  he  was  bound  to  protect 
them.  One  day  a  young  robin  alighted  nearer 
to  the  little  group  than  he  considered  altogether 


32     A  CHEONICLE  OF  THREE  LITTLE  KINGS. 

proper,  and  lie  started,  full  tilt,  toward  him. 
As  he  drew  near,  the  alarmed  robin  uttered  his 
baby  cry,  when  instantly  the  kingbird  wheeled 
and  left ;  nor  did  he  notice  the  stranger  again, 
although  he  stayed  there  a  long  time.  But  when 
an  old  robin  came  to  attend  to  his  wants,  that 
was  a  different  matter;  the  kingbird  went  at 
once  for  the  grown-up  bird,  thus  proving  that 
he  spared  the  first  one  because  of  his  babyhood. 
It  was  not  till  they  were  three  weeks  old  that 
the  little  kings  began  to  fly  any  lower  than 
about  the  level  of  their  nest.  Then  one  came  to 
the  fence,  and  the  others  to  the  top  of  a  grape - 
trellis.  I  hoped  to  see  some  indication  of  look- 
ing for  food,  and  I  did;  but  it  was  all  looking 
up  and  calling  on  the  parents ;  not  an  eye  was 
turned  earthward.  Now  the  young  ones  began 
to  fly  more  nearly  together,  and  one  could  see 
that  a  few  days'  more  practice  would  enable 
them  to  fly  in  a  compact  little  flock.  Shortly 
before  this  they  had  ceased  to  come  to  the  na- 
tive tree  at  night,  and  by  day  extended  their 
wanderings  so  far  that  sometimes  they  were  not 
heard  for  hours.  Regularly,  however,  as  night 
drew  near,  the  migrating  cry  sounded  in  the 
grove,  and  upon  going  out  I  always  found  them 
together,  —  three 

"  Silver  brown  little  birds, 
Sitting-  close  in  the  branches." 


FAEEWELL  TO  THE  LITTLE  KINGS.       33 

These  interesting  bantlings  were  twenty -four 
days  old  when  it  became  necessary  for  me  to 
leave  them,  as  they  had  already  left  me.  It  was 
a  warm  morning,  near  the  end  of  July,  and 
about  half  an  hour  before  I  must  go  I  went  out 
to  take  my  last  look  at  them.  Their  calls  were 
still  loud  and  frequent,  and  I  had  no  difficulty 
in  tracing  them  to  a  dead  twig  near  the  top  of  a 
pine-tree,  where  they  sat  close  together,  as  usual, 
with  faces  to  the  west ;  lacking  only  in  length  of 
tail  of  being  as  big  as  their  parents,  yet  still 
calling  for  food,  and  still,  to  all  appearances, 
without  the  smallest  notion  that  they  could  ever 
help  themselves. 

Thus  I  left  them. 


III. 

THE   BABES   IN  THE   WOOD. 

THE  little  home  in  the  wood  was  well  hidden. 
About  its  door  were  no  signs  of  life,  no  chips 
from  its  building,  no  birds  lingering  near,  no 
external  indication  whatever.  In  silence  the 
tenants  came  and  went ;  neither  calls,  songs,  nor 
indiscreet  tapping  gave  hint  of  the  presence  of 
woodpeckers  in  the  neighborhood,  and  food  was 
sought  out  of  sight  and  hearing  of  the  carefully 
secluded  spot.  No  one  would  have  suspected 
what  treasures  were  concealed  within  the  rough 
trunk  of  that  old  oak  but  for  an  accident. 

Madam  herself  was  the  culprit.  In  carrying 
out  an  eggshell,  broken  at  one  end  and  of  no 
further  use,  she  dropped  it  near  the  foot  of  the 
tree.  To  her  this  was  doubtless  a  disaster,  but 
to  me  it  was  a  treasure-trove,  for  it  told  her  well- 
kept  secret.  The  hint  was  taken,  the  home  soon 
found  in  the  heart  of  an  oak,  with  entrance 
twenty  feet  from  the  ground,  and  close  watching 
from  a  distance  revealed  the  owner,  a  golden- 
winged  woodpecker. 

The  tree  selected  by  the  shy  young  pair  for 


A  QUIET  PAIR.  35 

their  nursery  stood  in  a  pleasant  bit  of  woods, 
left  wild,  on  the  shore  of  the  Great  South  Bay, 
"where  precious  qualities  of  silence  haunt,"  and 
the  delicious  breath  of  the  sea  mingled  with  the 
fragrance  of  pines.  One  must  be  an  enthusiast 
to  spy  out  the  secrets  of  a  bird's  life,  and  this 
pair  of  golden-wings  made  more  than  common 
demand  on  the  patience  of  the  student,  so  silent, 
so  wary,  so  wisely  chosen,  their  sanctum.  Be- 
fore the  door  hung  a  friendly  oak  branch,  heavy 
with  leaves,  that  swayed  and  swung  with  every 
breeze.  Now  it  hid  the  entrance  from  the  east, 
now  from  the  west,  and  with  every  change  of  the 
vagrant  wind  the  observer  must  choose  a  new 
point  of  view. 

Then  the  birds!  Was  ever  a  pair  so  quiet? 
Without  a  sound  they  came,  on  level  path,  to 
the  nest,  dropped  softly  to  the  trunk,  slipped 
quickly  in,  and,  after  staying  about  one  minute 
inside,  departed  as  noiselessly  as  they  came. 
Their  color,  too!  One  would  think  a  bird  of 
that  size,  of  golden-brown  mottled  with  black, 
with  yellow  feather-shafts  and  a  brilliant  scarlet 
head-band,  must  be  conspicuous.  But  so  per- 
fectly did  the  soft  colors  harmonize  with  the 
rough,  sun-touched  bark,  so  misleading  were  the 
shadows  of  the  leaves  moving  in  the  breeze,  and 
so  motionless  was  the  bird  flattened  against  the 
trunk,  that  one  might  look  directly  at  it  and  not 
see  dt. 


36  THE  BABES  IN  THE  WOOD. 

For  a  few  days  the  woodpeckers  were  so  timid 
that  I  was  unable  to  secure  a  good  look  at  them. 
The  marked  difference  of  manner,  however,  con- 
vinced me  that  both  parents  were  engaged  in  at- 
tending upon  the  young  family ;  and  as  they  grew 
less  vigilant  and  I  learned  to  distinguish  them, 
I  discovered  that  it  was  so.  The  only  dissimi- 
larity in  dress  between  the  lord  and  lady  of  the 
golden-wing  family  is  a  small  black  patch  de- 
scending from  the  beak  of  the  male,  answering 
very  well  to  the  mustache  of  bigger  "lords  of 
creation."  In  coming  to  the  nest,  one  of  the 
pair  flew  swiftly,  just  touched  for  an  instant  the 
threshold,  and  disappeared  within ;  this  I  found 
to  be  the  head  of  the  household.  The  other, 
the  mother,  as  it  proved,  being  more  cautious, 
alighted  at  the  door,  paused,  thrust  her  head  in, 
withdrew  it,  as  if  undecided  whether  to  venture 
in  the  presence  of  a  stranger,  and,  after  two  or 
three  such  movements,  darted  in.  Always  in 
one  minute  the  bird  reappeared,  flew  at  once  out 
of  the  wood,  at  about  the  height  of  the  nest, 
and  did  not  come  down  till  it  reached,  on  one 
side,  an  old  garden  run  to  waste,  or,  on  the 
other,  far  over  the  water,  a  cultivated  field.  At 
that  tender  age,  the  young  flickers  received  their 
rations  about  twice  in  an  hour. 

Although  the  golden-wings  were  silent,  the 
wood  around  them  was  lively  from  morning  till 


EOBINS  SUBDUED.  37 

night.  Blackbirds  and  cuckoos  flew  over;  ori- 
oles, both  orchard  and  Baltimore,  sang  and  for- 
aged among  the  trees ;  song-sparrows  and  chip- 
pies trilled  from  the  fence  at  one  side :  bluebird 
and  thrasher  searched  the  ground,  and  paid  in 
music  for  the  privilege;  pewees  and  kingbirds 
made  war  upon  insects  ;  and  from  afar  came 
the  notes  of  redwing  and  meadow-lark.  Others 
there  were,  casual  visitors,  and  of  course  it  did 
not  escape  the  squawks  and  squabbles  of  the 
English  sparrow, — 

"  Irritant,  iterant,  maddening  bird." 

The  robins,  who  one  sometimes  wishes,  with 
Lanier's  owl,  "had  more  to  think  and  less  to 
say,"  were  not  so  self-assertive  as  they  usually 
are;  in  fact,  they  were  quite  subdued.  They 
came  and  went  freely,  but  they  never  questioned 
my  actions,  as  they  are  sure  to  do  where  they 
lead  society.  Now  and  then  one  perched  on  the 
fence  and  regarded  me,  with  flick  of  wing  and 
tail  that  meant  a  good  deal,  but  he  expressed  no 
opinion.  With  kingbirds  on  one  side,  pewees 
on  the  other,  and  the  great  crested  fly-catcher 
a  daily  caller,  this  was  eminently  a  fly-catcher 
grove,  and  the  robin  plainly  felt  that  he  was  not 
responsible  for  its  good  order.  Indeed,  after 
fly-catcher  households  were  set  up,  he  had  his 
hands  full  to  maintain  his  right  to  be  there 
at  all. 


38       THE  BABES  IN  THE  WOOD. 

Whatever  went  on,  the  woodpeckers  took  no 
part  in  it.  Back  and  forth  they  passed,  almost 
stealthily,  caring  not  who  ruled  the  grove  so 
that  their  precious  secret  was  not  discovered. 
Neither  of  them  stayed  to  watch  the  nest,  nor 
did  they  come  and  go  together.  The  birds  in 
the  neighborhood  might  be  inquisitive,  —  there 
was  no  one  to  resent  it ;  blackbirds  scrambled 
over  the  oak,  robins  perched  on  the  screening 
branch,  and  no  one  about  the  silent  entrance 
disputed  their  right. 

In  the  first  flush  of  dismay  at  finding  them- 
selves watched,  the  golden-wings,  as  I  said,  re- 
doubled their  cautiousness.  They  tried  to  keep 
the  position  of  the  nest  secret  by  coming  from 
the  back,  gliding  around  on  the  trunk,  and 
stealing  in  at  the  door,  or  by  alighting  quietly 
high  up  in  the  body  of  the  tree,  and  coming 
down  backward,  —  that  is,  tail  first.  But  by 
remaining  absolutely  without  motion  or  sound 
while  they  were  present,  I  gradually  won  their 
toleration,  and  had  my  reward.  The  birds 
ceased  to  regard  me  as  an  enemy,  and,  though 
they  always  looked  at  me,  no  longer  tried  to  keep 
out  of  sight,  or  to  hide  the  object  of  their  visits. 
During  the  first  day  of  watching  I  had  the  good 
fortune  to  see  a  second  empty  shell  brought  out 
of  the  nest,  and  dropped  a  little  farther  off  than 
the  first  had  been ;  and  I  feel  safe  in  assuming 


CURIOUS   WAY  OF  FEEDING.  39 

that  these  two  were  the  birthdays  of  the  babes 
in  the  wood. 

Thirteen  days  were  devoted  to  the  study  of  the 
manners  and  customs  of  the  parents  before  the 
hidden  subjects  of  their  solicitude  gave  any  signs 
of  life  visible  from  below.  Though  visits  were 
about  half  an  hour  apart,  and  flicker  babies  have 
very  good  appetites,  they  did  not  go  hungry, 
for  on  every  occasion  they  had  *&  hearty  meal  in- 
stead of  the  single  mouthful  that  many  young 
birds  receive.  This  fact  was  guessed  at  on  the 
thirteenth  day,  when  the  concealed  little  ones 
came  out  of  the  darkness  up  to  the  door,  and  the 
parents'  movements  in  feeding  could  be  seen; 
but  the  whole  curious  process  was  plain  two  days 
later,  when  a  young  golden-wing  appeared  at 
the  opening  and  met  his  supplies  half-way.  The 
food-bearer  clung  to  the  bark  beside  the  en- 
trance, leaned  over,  turned  his  head  on  one  side, 
and  thrust  his  beak  within  the  slightly  opened 
beak  of  his  offspring.  In  this  position  he  gave 
eight  or  ten  quick  little  jerks  of  his  head,  which 
doubtless  represented  so  many  mouthfuls;  then, 
drawing  back  his  head,  he  made  a  motion  of  the 
throat,  as  though  swallowing,  which  was,  pre- 
sumably, raising  instead,  for  he  leaned  over 
again  and  repeated  the  operation  in  the  waiting 
mouth.  This  performance  was  gone  through 
with  as  many  as  three  or  four  times  in  succession 


40       THE  BABES  IN  THE  WOOD. 

before  one  flicker  baby  was  satisfied.  After  the 
nestlings  came  up  to  the  door,  the  parents  went 
no  more  inside,  as  a  rule,  and  housekeeping  took 
care  of  itself. 

On  the  fifteenth  day  of  his  life,  as  said  above, 
the  eldest  scion  of  the  golden -wing  family  made 
his  appearance  at  the  portal  of  his  home.  The 
sight  and  the  sound  of  him  came  together,  for  he 
burst  out  at  once  *with  a  cry.  It  was  not  very 
loud,  but  it  meant  something,  and  the  practice 
of  a  day  or  two  gave  it  all  the  strength  that  was 
desirable.  In  fact,  it  became  clamorous  to  a 
degree  that  made  further  attempts  at  conceal- 
ment useless,  and  no  one  was  quicker  to  recog- 
nize it  than  the  parents.  The  baby  cry  was  the 
utterance  familiar  from  the  grown-up  birds  as 
"wick-a!  wick-a !  wick-a!"  From  this  day, 
when  one  of  the  elders  drew  near  the  tree,  it  was 
met  at  the  opening  by  an  eager  little  face  and  a 
begging  call;  but  it  was  several  days  before  the 
recluse  showed  interest  in  anything  except  the 
food  supply.  Meals  were  now  nearly  an  hour 
apart,  and  the  moment  one  was  over  the  well-fed 
youngster  in  the  tree  fell  back  out  of  sight,  prob- 
ably to  sleep,  after  the  fashion  of  babies  the 
world  over.  But  all  this  soon  came  to  an  end. 
The  young  flicker  began  to  linger  a  few  minutes 
after  he  had  been  fed,  and  to  thrust  his  beak 
out  in  a  tentative  way,  as  if  wondering  what  the 
big  out-of-doors  was  like,  any  way. 


A  SPARROW  MOB.  41 

Matters  were  going  on  thus  prosperously, 
when  a  party  of  English  sparrows,  newly 
fledged,  came  to  haunt  the  wood  in  a  small  flock 
of  eighteen  or  twenty;  to  meddle,  in  sparrow 
style,  with  everybody's  business;  and  to  pro- 
fane the  sweet  stillness  of  the  place  with  harsh 
squawks.  The  mistress  of  the  little  home  in  the 
oak,  who  had  conducted  her  domestic  affairs  so 
discreetly,  one  day  found  herself  the  centre  of  a 
mob ;  for  these  birds  early  learn  the  power  of 
combination.  She  came  to  her  nest  followed  by 
the  impertinent  sparrows,  who  flew  as  close  as 
possible,  none  of  them  more  than  a  foot  from 
her.  They  alighted  as  near  as  they  could  find 
perches,  crowded  nearer,  stretched  up,  flew  over, 
and  tried  in  every  way,  with  an  air  of  the  deep- 
est interest,  to  see  what  she  could  be  doing  in 
that  hole.  When  she  left,  —  which  she  did 
soon,  for  she  was  annoyed,  —  the  crowd  did  not 
go  with  her;  they  were  bound  to  explore  the 
mystery  of  that  opening.  They  flew  past  it; 
they  hovered  before  it;"  they  craned  their  necks 
to  peer  in;  they  perched  on  a  bare  twig  that 
grew  over  it,  as  many  as  could  get  footing,  and 
leaned  far  over  to  see  within.  The  young  flicker 
retired  before  his  inquisitive  visitors,  and  was 
seen  no  more  till  the  mother  came  again;  and 
then  she  had  to  go  in  out  of  sight  to  find  him. 

As  the  days  went  on,  the  babe  in  the  wood 


42  THE  BABES  IN  THE  WOOD. 

became  more  used  to  the  sunlight  and  the  bird- 
sounds  about  him.  Evidently,  he  was  of  a 
meditative  turn,  for  he  did  not  scramble  out, 
and  rudely  rush  upon  his  fate;  he  deliberated; 
he  studied,  with  the  air  of  a  philosopher;  he 
weighed  the  attractions  of  a  cool  and  breezy 
world  against  the  comforts  and  delightful  obscu- 
rity of  home.  Perhaps,  also,  there  entered  into 
his  calculations  the  annoyance  of  a  reporter 
meeting  him  on  the  threshold  of  life,  tearing  the 
veil  away  from  his  private  affairs.  What  would 
one  give  to  know  the  thoughts  in  that  little 
brown  head,  on  its  first  look  at  life !  Whatever 
the  reason,  he  plainly  concluded  not  to  take  the 
risk  that  day,  for  he  disappeared  again  behind  a 
door  that  no  reporter,  however  glib  or  plausible, 
could  pass.  Sometimes  he  vanished  with  a  sud- 
denness that  was  not  natural.  Did  his  heart 
fail  him,  or,  perchance,  his  footing  give  way? 
For  whether  he  clung  to  the  walls,  or  made  step- 
ping-stones of  his  brothers  and  sisters  (as  do 
many  of  his  betters,  or  at  least  his  biggers),  who 
can  tell?  Often  beside  this  eldest-born,  after 
the  first  day,  appeared  a  second  little  head,  spy- 
ing eagerly,  if  a  little  less  bravely,  on  the  world, 
and  as  days  passed  he  frequently  contested  the 
position  of  vantage  with  his  brother,  but  he  was 
always  second. 

Mother  Nature  is  kind  to  woodpeckers.     She 


WOODPECKERS  AT  DINNER.  43 

fits  them  out  for  life  before  they  leave  the 
seclusion  of  the  nursery.  There  is  no  callow, 
immature  period  in  the  face  of  the  world,  no 
"green"  age  for  the  gibes  or  superior  airs  of 
elders.  A  woodpecker  out  of  the  nest  is  a 
woodpecker  in  the  dress  and  with  the  bearing  of 
his  fathers,  —  dignified,  serene,  and  grown  up. 

As  the  sweet  June  days  advanced,  the  young 
bird  in  the  oak-tree  grew  bolder.  He  no  longer 
darted  in  when  a  saucy  sparrow  came  near,  and 
when  the  parent  arrived  with  food  the  cries  be- 
came so  loud  that  all  the  world  could  know  that 
here  were  young  woodpeckers  at  dinner.  Now, 
too,  he  began  to  spend  much  time  in  dressing 
his  plumage,  in  preparation  for  the  grand  de- 
but. Usually,  when  a  young  bird  begins  to 
dally  with  the  temptation  to  fly,  so  rapid  is 
growth  among  birds,  he  may  be  expected  out  in 
a  few  hours.  In  this  deliberate  family  it  is  dif- 
ferent ;  indeed,  taking  flight  must  be  a  greater 
step  for  a  woodpecker  than  for  a  bird  from  an 
open  nest. 

Three  days  the  youngster  had  been  debating 
whether  it  were  uto  be  or  not  to  be,"  and  more 
and  more  he  lingered  in  the  doorway,  sitting 
far  enough  out  to  show  his  black  necklace.  His 
was  no  longer  the  wondering  gaze  of  infancy,  to 
which  all  things  are  equally  strange ;  it  was  a 
discriminating  look,  —  the  head  turned  quickly, 


44  THE  BABES  IN   THE  WOOD. 

and  passing  objects  drew  his  attention.  On  the 
third  day,  too,  he  uttered  his  first  genuine  wood- 
pecker cry  of  "pe-auk!  "  He  had  not  the  least 
embarrassment  before  me.  I  think  he  regarded 
me  as  a  part  of  the  landscape,  —  the  eccentric 
development  of  a  tree  trunk,  perhaps ;  for  while 
he  never  looked  at  me  nor  put  the  smallest  re- 
straint upon  his  infant  passions,  let  another  per- 
son come  into  the  wood,  and  he  was  at  once 
silent  and  on  his  guard.  All  this  time  he  had 
become  more  and  more  fascinated  with  the  view 
without  his  door ;  one  could  fairly  see  the  love  of 
the  world  grow  upon  him.  He  picked  at  the 
bark  about  him;  he  began  to  get  ideas  about 
ants,  and  ran  out  a  long  tongue  and  helped  him- 
self to  many  a  tidbit. 

When  the  young  golden -wing  had  passed  four 
days  in  this  manner,  he  grew  impatient.  The 
hour -long  intervals  between  meals  were  not 
to  his  mind,  and  he  began  to  express  himself 
fluently.  He  leaned  far  out,  and  delivered  the 
adult  cry  with  great  vigor  and  new  pathos;  he 
then  bowed  violently  many  times,  moved  his 
mouth  as  if  eating,  and  struggled  farther  and 
still  farther  out,  until  it  seemed  that  he  could  not 
keep  within  another  minute.  When  one  of  the 
parents  came  he  forgot  his  grown-up  manner, 
and  returned  to  the  baby  cry,  loud  and  urgent, 
as  if  he  were  starved. 


CONSIDERING  HIS  DEBUT.  45 

He  was  fed,  and  again  left ;  and  now  he  scram- 
bled up  with  his  feet  on  the  edge.  He  was  si- 
lent ;  he  was  considering  an  important  move,  a 
plunge  into  the  world.  He  wanted  to  come,  — 
he  longed  to  fly.  Outside  were  sunshine,  sweet 
air,  trees,  food,  —  inside  only  darkness.  The 
smallest  coaxing  would  bring  him  out ;  but  coax- 
ing he  was  not  to  have.  He  must  decide  for 
himself;  the  impulse  must  be  from  within. 

The  next  morning  opened  with  a  severe  north- 
east gale. 

"It  rained,  and  the  wind  was  never  weary." 

The  birds  felt  the  depressing  influence  of  the 
day.  The  robins  perched  on  the  fence,  wings 
hanging,  each  feather  like  a  bare  stick,  and  not 
a  sound  escaping  the  throat ;  and  when  robins 
are  discouraged,  it  is  dismal  weather  indeed. 
The  bluebirds  came  about,  draggled  almost  be- 
yond recognition.  Even  the  swallows  sailed 
over  silently,  their  merry  chatter  hushed. 

But  life  must  go  on,  whatever  the  weather; 
and  fearing  the  young  woodpecker  might  select 
this  day  to  make  his  entry  into  the  big  world, 
his  faithful  watcher  donned  rainy-day  costume, 
and  went  out  to  assist  in  the  operation.  The 
storm  did  not  beat  upon  his  side  of  the  tree,  and 
the  youngster  still  hung  out  of  his  hole  in  the 
trunk,  calling  and  crying,  apparently  without 


46  THE  BABES  IN  THE  WOOD. 

the  least  intention  of  exposing  his  brand-new 
feathers  to  the  rain. 

Very  early  the  following  morning,  before  the 
human  world  was  astir,  loud  golden-wing  cries, 
and  calls,  and  "laughs"  were  heard  about  the 
wood.  This  abandonment  of  restraint  proclaimed 
that  something  had  happened;  and  so,  indeed, 
I  discovered,  for  in  hastening  to  my  post  I  found 
an  ominous  silence  about  the  oak-tree.  The 
young  wise-head,  whose  struggles  and  tempta- 
tions I  had  watched  so  closely,  had  chosen  to  go 
in  the  magical  morning  hours,  when  the  world 
belongs  entirely  to  birds  and  beasts.  The  home 
in  the  wood  looked  deserted. 

I  sat  down  in  silence  and  waited,  for  I  knew 
the  young  flicker  could  not  long  be  still.  Sure 
enough,  I  soon  heard  his  cry,  but  how  far  off  ! 
I  followed  it  to  an  oak-tree  on  the  farther  edge 
of  the  grove.  I  searched  the  tree,  and  there  I 
saw  him,  quiet  now  as  I  approached,  and  plainly 
full  of  joy  in  his  freedom  and  his  wings. 

I  returned  to  my  place,  hoping  that  all  had 
not  gone.  There  must  be  more  than  one,  for  two 
had  been  up  to  the  door,  I  was  sure.  I  waited. 
Some  hours  later,  the  parents  came  to  their 
home  in  the  wood,  one  after  the  other.  Each 
one  alighted  beside  the  door,  glanced  in,  in  a 
casual  way,  but  did  not  put  the  head  in,  and 
then  flew  to  a  neighboring  tree,  uttering  what 


A  MYSTEEY  UNSOLVED.  47 

sounded  marvelously  like  a  chuckling  laugh,  and 
in  a  moment  left  the  grove.  Did,  then,  the 
daughters  of  the  house  meekly  fly,  without  pre- 
liminary study  of  the  world  from  the  door? 
Were  there,  perchance,  no  daughters?  Indeed, 
had  more  than  one  infant  reached  maturity? 
All  these  questions  I  asked  myself,  but  not  one 
shall  I  ever  be  able  to  answer. 

I  waited  several  hours.  Many  birds  sang  and 
called  among  the  trees,  but  no  sound  came  from 
the  oak-tree  household,  and  to  me  the  wood  was 
deserted. 


IV. 

HOME   LIFE   OF   THE   REDSTART. 

THE  redstart  himself  told  me  where  his  trea- 
sures were  "hid  in  a  leafy  hollow. "  Not  that  he 
intended  to  be  so  confiding;  on  the  contrary  he 
was  somewhat  disconcerted  when  he  saw  what 
he  had  done,  and  tried  his  best  to  undo  it  by  ap- 
pearing not  to  have  the  smallest  interest  in  that 
particular  tree.  I  happened  that  morning  to  be 
wandering  slowly  along  the  edge  of  a  tree -lined 
ravine,  looking  for  the  nest  of  a  greatly  disturbed 
pair  of  cat-birds.  As  I  drew  near  an  old  moss- 
covered  apple-tree,  I  heard  a  low  though  ener- 
getic "phit !  phit!"  and  a  chipping  sparrow 
emerged  from  the  tree  with  much  haste,  quickly 
followed  by  a  redstart,  with  the  unmistakable 
air  of  proprietor.  The  sight  of  me  made  a  di- 
version. The  pursued  dropped  into  the  grass, 
while  the  pursuer  turned  his  attention  to  the 
bigger  game,  presented  so  unexpectedly  that  he 
had  not  time  to  bethink  himself  of  his  usual  cus- 
tom of  not  showing  his  gorgeous  black  and  gold 
about  home.  He  scolded  me  well  for  an  instant, 
till  his  wits  returned,  when  he  disappeared  like 


HOSTILE  DEMONSTRATIONS.  49 

a  flash.  It  was  too  late  to  deceive  me,  however, 
and  I  marked  that  tree  as  I  passed,  intent  at  the 
moment  upon  cat-birds. 

On  returning,  I  stopped  on  the  bank  to  look 
the  tree  over  at  my  leisure,  and  there  I  soon 
saw,  two  feet  from  the  top  of  the  tallest  upright 
branch  and  tightly  clinging  to  it,  a  small  cradle, 
gently  rocking  in  the  warm  breeze.  No  one  was 
at  home,  and  I  sat  down  to  wait.  This  move- 
ment did  not  meet  the  approval  of  a  certain 
small  tenant  of  a  neighboring  tree,  for  I  was 
saluted  by  a  sharp,  low,  incessant  cry;  now  it 
came  from  the  right  side,  now  from  the  left.  I 
turned  quickly,  caught  a  glimpse  of  yellow,  the 
flit  of  a  wing,  and  then  —  nothing.  In  a  mo- 
ment the  sound  began  again,  and  thus  it  tanta- 
lized me  till  my  neck  became  tired,  and  I  laid 
my  head  back  among  the  ferns,  to  wait  till  the 
small  fire-brand  calmed  down  a  little.  To  my 
surprise  and  delight,  the  bird  seemed  to  regard 
this  as  a  surrender,  for  down  a  broad  branch 
that  sloped  toward  me  came  a  most  animated 
bundle  of  feathers,  wings  and  tail  wide  spread, 
making  hostile  demonstrations,  and  scolding  as 
fiercely  as  such  an  atom  could.  It  had  all  the 
airs  of  ownership,  and  its  colors  were  olive  and 
yellow ;  had,  then,  the  roguish  redstart  deceived 
me,  after  all  ?  Thus  pondering,  I  suddenly  re- 
membered that  I  had  never  seen  his  spouse,  and 


50     HOME  LIFE  OF  THE  REDSTART. 

that  monsieur  and  madame  do  not  dress  alike  in 
the  bird  world  any  more  than  in  the  human.  I 
marked  the  points ;  I  consulted  the  books ;  there 
could  be  no  doubt  this  was  the  little  dame  her- 
self, and  her  mate  had  been  too  clever  to  come 
to  her  aid. 

The  structure  on  the  apple  bough  was  the  red- 
start homestead.  Watch  it  every  day  I  must, 
yet  not  to  disturb  the  fiery  little  owners  it  was 
necessary  to  move  further  from  them.  I  sought 
and  found  a  delightful  nook,  the  other  side  of 
the  ravine.  On  its  steep  sides  the  native  forest 
still  flourished,  and  seated  at  the  foot  of  a  tall 
maple,  tented  in  by  a  heavy  low  growth  at  my 
back,  I  could  look  across  the  narrow  chasm 
through  a  gap  in  the  trees,  and  see  the  redstart 
nest  in  the  pasture  beyond.  The  restless  pair 
did  not  notice  me  behind  my  veil  of  greenery, 
and  my  glass  was  of  the  best;  so  I  secured  a 
good  view  of  the  small  mansion  and  the  life  that 
went  on  about  it,  without  in  the  least  annoying 
the  builders  thereof.  I  found  the  head  of  the 
family  very  interesting  in  his  role  of  husband 
and  father. 

Perhaps  not  every  one  knows  a  redstart,  and 
his  name  is  misleading,  for  he  has  not  a  red 
feather  on  his  body.  He  is  a  bird  of  very  few 
inches,  clothed  in  brilliant  array  of  orange  and 
black  and  white,  which  always  suggests  the  Bal- 


THE  EOBIN   TAKES  A  HINT.  51 

timore  oriole.  His  mate  is  more  soberly  clad  in 
olive -brown  and  golden -y  ello  w ;  neither  of  them 
is  still  for  an  instant,  diving  and  flitting  about 
on  a  tree  like  specks  of  animated  sunlight. 

At  my  pleasant  post  of  observation  I  spent 
hours  of  every  day,  stealing  in  soon  after  break- 
fast, quietly,  so  as  not  to  arouse  the  suspicions  of 
a  robin  who  lived  in  the  neighborhood;  for  un- 
fortunate is  the  student  whose  ways  are  not  ac- 
ceptable to  one  of  this  noisy  family.  I  found, 
however,  when  my  patience  gave  out,  that  the 
robin  will  take  a  hint.  On  throwing  a  pebble 
through  the  branches  near  him,  as  a  suggestion 
that  his  attentions  were  not  welcome,  he  flew  to 
a  tree  a  little  farther  off,  and  resumed  his  offen- 
sive remarks;  another  pebble  convinced  him 
that  the  distance  might  be  profitably  increased, 
and  thus  I  drove  him  away;  at  about  the  fourth 
pebble  he  took  a  final  departure. 

Here,  then,  I  saw  the  small  housekeeping  go 
on.  I  always  found  the  little  dame  in  posses- 
sion, and  generally  the  lord  and  master  gleaning 
food  in  redstart  fashion;  flitting  around  a 
branch,  darting  behind  a  leaf,  over  and  under  a 
twig,  tail  spread  to  keep  his  balance  during  these 
jerky  movements,  his  bright  oriole  colors  flash- 
ing as  he  dashed  through  a  patch  of  sunlight,  — 
a  beautiful  object,  but  a  perfectly  silent  one. 
When  his  happiness  demanded  expression  he 


52  HOME  LIFE  OF  THE  REDSTART. 

flew  to  a  maple -tree,  and  poured  out  his  soul  in 
the  quaint  though  not  very  musical  ditty  of  his 
race.  Sometimes  he  stood  still  on  a  branch, 
like  a  bird  who  has  something  to  say ;  but  more 
often  he  rushed  around  after  insects  on  this  tree, 
and  threw  in  the  notes  between  the  firm  snaps  of 
his  beak. 

Promptly  every  half  hour  the  little  sprite  took 
his  way  to  that  precious  apple  branch,  and 
dropped,  light  as  a  snow-flake,  on  a  certain  twig 
on  the  nearest  side  of  his  homestead.  A  flash 
from  the  nest  announced  the  departure  of  ma- 
dame,  and  he  popped  into  her  place.  Not  to  set- 
tle down  to  business,  as  she  did,  —  far  from  it ! 
It  is  a  wonder  to  me  how  even  a  female  redstart 
can  sit  still.  On  taking  his  place,  he  first  ex- 
amined the  treasures  it  held,  leaning  over  the 
edge  with  a  solicitude  charming  to  see;  and 
when  he  did  at  last  cover  them  from  sight,  his 
black  velvet  cap  still  bobbed  up  and  down,  this 
way  and  that,  as  though  he  were  taking  advan- 
tage of  his  enforced  quiet  to  plume  himself. 
Precisely  three  minutes  he  allowed  his  modest 
spouse  for  her  repast.  At  the  expiration  of  that 
time  he  deserted,  darted  away,  and  began  to  call 
from  the  next  tree,  when  she  instantly  returned. 
Sometimes  she  was  at  hand,  and  alighted  on  a 
twig  on  the  farther  side  of  the  nest,  when  he 
bounded  off  and  out  of  sight.  She  carefully  in- 


NEWS  IN   THE  FAMILY.  53 

spected  the  nest  to  see  that  ^11  was  right,  then 
slipped  in,  settled  herself  with  a  gentle  flutter 
of  wings,  and  I  knew  she  was  safe  for  another 
half  hour.  It  was  the  closest  watching  I  ever 
tried,  so  quick  were  the  motions,  so  silent  the 
going  and  coming. 

Now  and  then  the  redstart  chose  to  stay  lon- 
ger at  home.  The  usual  time  having  expired, 
the  little  sitter  appeared,  but  if  her  mate  did 
not  vacate,  she  availed  herself  of  the  additional 
liberty  in  flitting  about  the  tree,  adding  a  dessert 
to  her  dinner.  On  one  occasion  he  let  her  re- 
turn twice  before  he  left,  occupying  her  place 
for  eight  minutes,  —  an  enormous  length  of  time 
for  a  redstart.  More  often  he  grew  impatient 
in  less  than  three  minutes,  and  once  he  forgot 
himself  so  far  as  to  call  while  in  the  nest. 

During  the  sitting  there  came  two  days  of 
steady,  pouring  rain  and  high  wind.  I  feared 
the  hopes  of  that  family,  as  well  as  others  all 
about,  would  perish,  but  the  brave  little  mother 
bore  the  depressing  season  well.  The  eggs  were 
never  left  uncovered,  nor  did  that  gay  rover, 
her  spouse,  forget  to  take  her  place  as  usual. 

On  the  morning  of  my  fourth  day  of  watching, 
I  saw  there  was  news;  sitting  was  over,  and 
though  they  could  not  be  seen,  it  was  easy  to 
picture  the  featherless,  wide-mouthed  objects, 
evidently  so  lovely  to  the  young  parents.  Close 


54  HOME  LIFE  OF  THE  REDSTART. 

work  as  it  had  been  to  observe  the  movements  of 
the  pair,  it  was  much  harder  after  that,  they  be- 
came at  once  so  wary.  I  am  sure  they  never 
regarded  me  in  any  way  as  a  spy,  for  I  was  not 
in  their  highway;  moreover,  they  would  cer- 
tainly have  expressed  their  mind  if  they  had. 
Yet  they  came  and  went  entirely  from  the  other 
side,  and  so  exactly  opposite  the  nest  that  often 
I  could  not  see  even  the  flit  of  a  wing.  Not 
until  one  stood  on  the  threshold  could  I  see  it, 
and  the  most  untiring  vigilance  was  necessary. 
Even  before  this  madame  was  cautious  in  her 
going  and  coming;  she  first  dropped  about  two 
feet  to  a  branch,  paused  a  moment,  then  went  to 
a  second  one,  still  lower,  thus  left  the  tree  near 
the  ground,  and  in  returning  she  began  at  the 
lowest  branch  and  retraced  her  steps  to  the  nest. 

That  day  the  father  of  the  new  family  seemed 
very  joyous,  and  treated  us  to  a  great  deal  of 
singing,  though  it  was  not  a  singing-day,  being 
very  cold,  with  a  steady  rain.  The  pretty  little 
mother  took  thoughtful  care  of  her  brood.  For 
a  half  hour  or  more  she  worked  very  busily,  her 
mate  helping,  and  fed  them  well;  then  she  de- 
liberately sat  down  upon  those  youngsters,  ex- 
actly as  though  they  were  still  eggs.  There  she 
stayed  as  long  as  she  thought  best,  and  then  she 
went  to  her  work  again. 

The  morning  they  were  six  days  old  I  had  the 


A  FUSSY  MAMMA.  55 

pleasure  of  seeing  a  movement  in  the  nest. 
When  the  sun  reached  a  certain  height  above 
the  tree,  it  shone  into  that  small  mansion  in 
such  a  way  as  to  reveal  its  contents ;  thus  I  could 
see  the  redstart  babies  moving  restlessly,  evi- 
dently in  haste  already  to  come  out  into  the 
world.  This  day  the  father  took  rather  more 
than  half  the  charge  of  the  provision  supply,  and 
with  considerable  regularity.  During  four  hours 
that  the  nest  was  closely  watched,  its  tenants 
were  fed  at  about  five-minute  intervals  for  half 
an  hour ;  and  then  mamma  promptly  smothered 
their  ambition,  as  above  mentioned,  for  perhaps 
a  quarter  of  an  hour,  when,  if  they  did  not  take 
naps  like  "good  little  birdies,"  they  at  least 
were  forced  to  keep  still. 

This  young  matron  reminded  me  of  some  mo- 
thers of  a  larger  growth,  she  was  so  fussy,  so 
careful  that  her  charges  did  not  go  too  fast  for 
their  strength,  while  her  spouse  made  it  his 
business  to  see  that  she  did  not  keep  them  tender 
by  over-coddling.  He  allowed  her  to  brood 
them  for  fifteen  minutes;  longer  than  that  he 
would  not  tolerate,  but  came  like  a  fiery  meteor 
to  see  that  she  moved.  She  plainly  understood 
his  intention,  for  the  instant  he  appeared  she 
darted  off,  although  he  did  not  touch  the  nest. 
All  day  the  weight  of  responsibility  kept  this 
rover  at  home ;  he  might  generally  be  seen  on 


56  HOME  LIFE  OF  THE  EEDSTAET. 

the  lower  branches  of  his  tree,  darting  about  in 
perfect  silence ;  but  once  or  twice  I  saw  him  ac- 
tually loitering,  a  pleasant  pastime  of  which  I 
never  suspected  a  redstart. 

Six  days  appears  to  be  the  limit  of  time  a 
redstart  baby  can  submit  to  a  cradle.  (I  know 
this  does  not  agree  with  the  books,  so  I  explain 
that  it  was  six  days  from  the  time  constant  sit- 
ting ceased.  If  the  young  were  out  of  the  shell 
before  that,  they  were  covered  all  the  time,  and 
not  fed.)  The  day  that  stirring  urchin  was  six 
days  old  he  mounted  the  edge  of  the  nest  and 
tried  his  wings.  When  mamma  came,  he  asked 
for  food  in  the  usual  bird-baby  way,  gentle  flut- 
ters of  the  wings ;  but  this  haste  was  certainly 
not  pleasing  to  the  little  dame,  and  upon  her 
departure  I  noticed  that  he  had  returned  to  the 
nursery. 

However,  his  ambition  was  roused,  —  the  am- 
bition of  a  redstart  to  be  moving,  —  and  at  seven 
o'clock  the  next  morning,  his  seventh  day,  he 
came  out  with  his  mind  made  up  to  stay.  First 
a  shaky  little  yellowish  head  appeared  above  the 
nest ;  then  the  owner  thereof  clambered  out  upon 
a  twig,  three  inches  higher.  One  minute  he 
rested,  to  glance  around  the  new  world,  and 
quickly  increased  the  distance  to  six  inches, 
where  he  stood  fidgeting,  arranging  his  feathers, 
and  evidently  preparing  for  a  tremendous  flight, 


REDSTART  TRAINING.  57 

when  his  anxious  parent  returned.  Plainly,  he 
would  have  been  wiser  to  wait  another  day,  for 
all  the  time  it  was  difficult  for  him  to  keep  his 
place ;  every  few  seconds  he  made  wild  struggles, 
beating  the  air  with  his  wings,  and  at  last,  after 
enjoying  that  elevated  position  in  life  about  ten 
minutes,  he  lost  his  hold  and  fell.  I  held  my 
breath,  for  a  fall  to  the  ground  meant  a  dead 
nestling;  but  he  clutched  at  a  twig  two  or  three 
feet  lower,  and  succeeded  in  retaining  this  more 
humble  station.  Madame  came  and  fed  and 
comforted  him,  and  it  was  soon  evident  that  he 
had  learned  a  lesson,  for  he  moderated  his  trans- 
ports ;  though  his  head  was  as  restless  as  ever, 
his  feet  were  more  steady  ;  he  did  not  fall 
again,  and  he  soon  scrambled  freely  all  over  the 
tree. 

Now  I  was  interested  to  see  how  the  redstart 
babies  were  brought  up,  and  for  more  than  four 
hours  I  kept  my  eyes  on  that  youngster.  It  is 
no  small  task,  let  me  say,  to  keep  watch  of  an 
atom  an  inch  or  two  long,  to  whom  any  leaf  is 
ample  screen,  to  note  every  movement  lest  he 
slip  out  of  sight,  and  to  make  memorandum  of 
each  morsel  of  food  he  gets.  There  were,  also, 
of  course,  the  most  seductive  sounds  about  me; 
never  so  many  birds  came  near.  Cat-birds 
whispered  softly  behind  my  back;  a  vireo  cried 
plaintively  over  my  head;  the  towhee  bunting 


58  HOME  LIFE  OF  THE  REDSTART. 

boldly  perched  on  a  low  bush,  and  saluted  me 
with  his  peculiar  cry;  flickers  uttered  their 
quaint  "wick-up"  on  my  right,  and  a  veery 
sighed  softly  uwe-o"  on  my  left.  Unflinch- 
ingly, however,  I  kept  my  face  toward  that 
apple-tree,  and  my  eyes  on  that  restless  young 
hopeful,  while  I  noted  the  conduct  of  the  par- 
ents toward  him. 

This  is  what  I  learned :  first,  that  those  left  in 
the  nest  were  to  be  kept  back,  and  not  allowed 
out  of  the  nursery  till  this  one  was  able  to  care 
for  himself,  or  at  least  to  help.  The  nest,  hold- 
ing probably  one  or  two  little  ones,  was  visited, 
the  first  hour  almost  exactly  once  in  twenty  min- 
utes, by  madame  exclusively,  and  the  three  suc- 
ceeding hours  at  longer  intervals,  by  her  spouse. 
Scarcely  a  move  was  made  there ;  plainly  there 
were  no  more  "come-outers"  that  day.  The 
efforts  of  the  mother  were  concentrated  on  num- 
ber one,  apparently,  to  bring  him  forward  as 
fast  as  possible.  He  was,  for  an  hour,  fed 
every  five  or  six  minutes,  the  next  hour  only 
three  times,  and  this  system  was  kept  up  with 
perfect  regularity  all  day. 

Meanwhile,  the  behavior  of  the  happy  father 
was  peculiar  and  somewhat  puzzling,  consider- 
ing how  solicitous  he  had  hitherto  appeared. 
For  some  time  his  gay  coat  was  not  to  be  seen, 
even  on  his  favorite  lower  branches;  and  when 


THE  EMPTY  NEST.  59 

he  did  come  around,  his  mate  flew  at  him, 
whether  to  praise  or  to  punish  could  only  be 
guessed,  for  he  at  once  disappeared  before  her. 
After  two  or  three  episodes  of  this  sort  he  re- 
mained about  the  tree,  and  occasionally  contrib- 
uted a  mite  to  the  family  sustenance. 

The  next  morning,  at  half  past  seven,  I  re- 
sumed my  seat  as  usual,  and  very  soon  saw  I 
was  too  late.  Both  parents  were  busily  flitting 
about  the  tree,  but  never  once  went  near  the 
old  home;  moreover,  when  the  sun  reached  the 
magical  point  where  he  revealed  the  inside  of 
the  nest,  lo,  it  was  empty ! 

Either  there  had  been  but  one  other  bairn, 
and  he  had  got  out  before  I  did,  —  things  hap- 
pen so  rapidly  in  the  redstart  family,  —  or  there 
had  been  a  tragedy,  I  could  not  discover  which. 
Neither  could  I  find  a  young  bird  on  that  tree, 
though  I  was  sure,  by  the  conduct  of  the  par- 
ents, that  at  least  one  remained. 

Now  that  no  one's  feelings  could  be  hurt  by 
the  operation,  I  had  a  limb  cut  off  the  apple- 
tree,  and  the  little  home  I  had  watched  with  so 
great  interest  brought  down  to  me.  Nothing 
could  be  daintier  or  more  secure  than  that  snug 
little  structure.  Placed  on  an  upright  branch, 
just  below  the  point  where  five  branchlets,  a  foot 
or  more  long,  sprang  out  to  shelter,  and  closely 
surrounded  by  seven  twigs,  of  few  inches  but 


60  HOME  LIFE  OF  THE  EEDSTAET. 

many  leaves,  it  was  a  marvel  I  had  been  able  to 
see  it  at  all.  The  redstarts  might  be  lively  and 
restless,  but  they  were  good  workers.  So  firmly 
was  that  nest  fastened  to  its  branch,  resting  on 
one  twig  and  embraced  by  two  others,  like  arms, 
that  to  remove  it  would  destroy  it.  Strips  of 
something  like  grapevine  bark,  with  a  few  grass- 
blades  and  a  material  that  looked  like  hornets' 
or  other  insects'  nest,  formed  the  outside,  while 
long  horsehairs  made  the  soft  lining.  Though 
strong  and  firm,  it  was  on  the  sides  so  thin, 
that,  as  mentioned  above,  the  movements  of  the 
young  could  be  seen  through  it. 

This  pretty  cup,  around  which  so  many  hopes 
had  centred,  was  of  a  size  for  a  fairy's  home- 
stead, —  hardly  two  inches  inside  diameter,  and 
less  than  two  inches  deep.  I  carried  it  off  as  a 
memento  of  a  delightful  June  among  the  hills  of 
the  old  Bay  State. 


V. 

WHEN  NESTING  IS   OVER. 

"  When  the  birds  fly  past 

And  the  chimes  ring  fast 
And  the  long  spring  shadows  sweet  shadow  cast," 

comes  the  most  attractive  time  of  year  to  the 
bird -lover,  —  the  baby-days,  when  the  labors 
and  anxieties  of  the  nest  being  over,  proud 
and  happy  parents  bring  forward  their  tender 
younglings  all  unused  to  the  ways  of  the 
world,  and  carry  on  their  training  before  our 
eyes. 

First  to  come  upon  the  scene  of  the  summer's 
studies  was  the  brown  thrush  family.  For  some 
time  the  head  of  the  household  had  made  the 
grove  a  regular  resting  place  in  his  daily  round. 
He  always  entered  in  silence,  alighted  on  the 
lowest  limb  of  a  tree,  and  hopped  lightly,  step 
by  step,  to  the  top,  where  he  sang  softly  a  few 
delightful  and  tantalizing  strains.  In  a  mo- 
ment he  dropped  to  the  ground,  uttering  a  liquid 
note  or  two  as  he  went,  and  threw  into  his  work 
of  digging  among  the  dead  leaves  the  same  sup- 
pressed vehemence  he  had  put  into  his  song. 


62  WHEN  NESTING  IS  OVER. 

Not  unfrequently  he  came  into  collision  with  a 
sparrow  mob  that  claimed  to  own  that  piece  of 
wood,  and  his  way  of  dealing  with  them  was  an 
ever  fresh  satisfaction.  He  stood  quiet,  though 
the  crouching  attitude  and  the  significant 
twitches  of  his  expressive  tail  indicated  very 
clearly  to  one  who  knew  him  that  he  was  far 
from  calm  inside ;  that  he  was  merely  biding  his 
time.  His  tranquil  manner  misled  the  vulgar 
foe ;  that  they  mistook  it  for  cowardice  was  ob- 
vious. Nearer,  and  still  nearer,  they  drew,  sur- 
rounded him,  and  seemed  about  to  fall  upon  him 
in  a  body,  when  he  suddenly  wheeled,  and  like 
a  flash  of  light  dashed  right  and  left  almost 
simultaneously,  as  if  he  had  become  two  birds, 
and  the  impertinent  enemy  fairly  vanished  be- 
fore him. 

Like  many  another  bird,  however,  the  thrasher, 
although  not  afraid  of  sparrows,  disliked  a  con- 
tinual row.  He  had  gradually  ceased  to  come 
into  the  neighborhood,  and  I  feared  I  should 
neither  see  nor  (what  was  worse)  hear  him  again. 
But  one  morning  he  presented  himself  with  two 
youngsters,  so  brimful  of  joy  that  he  quite  for- 
got his  previous  caution  and  reserve.  They 
perched  in  plain  sight  on  the  fence,  and  while 
the  little  ones  clumsily  struggled  to  maintain 
their  footing,  the  father  turned  his  head  this 
side  and  that,  jerked  his  tail,  and  uttered  a  low 


STRAWBERRIES  FOR  DESSERT.  63 

cry  as  much  as  to  say,  "Can  anybody  beat  that 
pair  now?  " 

In  a  moment  he  fell  to  the  serious  work  of 
filling  their  hungry  mouths.  Being  very  wide 
awake,  the  young  birds  readily  saw  where  sup- 
plies came  from,  and  then  they  accompanied 
their  parent  to  the  ground,  following  every  step, 
as  he  dug  almost  without  ceasing.  After  a 
tolerably  solid  repast  of  large  white  grubs,  he 
slipped  away  from  the  dear  coaxers,  disappeared 
on  the  other  side  of  the  fence,  and  before  they 
recovered  from  their  bewilderment  at  finding 
themselves  deserted,  returned  bearing  in  his 
beak  a  strawberry.  The  young  thrush  received 
the  dainty  eagerly,  but  finding  it  too  big  to  swal- 
low, beat  it  on  the  fence  as  if  it  were  a  worm. 
Of  course  it  parted,  and  a  piece  fell  to  the 
ground,  which  the  waiting  parent  went  after, 
and  administered  as  a  second  mouthful. 

For  a  long  time  the  little  ones  were  fed  on 
the  fence,  and  the  father  was  so  happy  that 
every  few  minutes  he  was  forced  to  retire  be- 
hind a  neighboring  tree  and  "make  gladness 
musical  upon  the  other  side." 

After  that  morning  the  thrasher  came  daily 
to  the  place,  and  a  dessert  of  strawberries  inva- 
riably followed  the  more  substantial  meal,  but 
never  again  did  he  bring  more  than  one  of  his 
family  with  him. 


64  WHEN  NESTING  IS  OVER. 

One  morning  the  brown  thrush  baby,  who 
had  been  rapidly  growing  self-reliant,  came 
alone  for  the  first  time.  It  was  interesting  to 
watch  him,  running  along  the  tops  of  the  pick- 
ets; searching  in  the  hot  grass  till  out  of  breath 
for  something  to  eat;  looking  around  in  a  sur- 
prised way,  as  if  wondering  why  the  food  did  not 
come;  making  a  dash,  with  childlike  innocence, 
after  a  strawberry  he  saw  in  the  mouth  of  a 
robin,  who  in  amazement  leaped  a  foot  in  the 
air;  and  at  last  flying  to  a  tree  to  call  and  listen 
for  his  sire.  That  wise  personage,  meanwhile, 
had  stolen  silently  into  the  grove,  all  dripping 
from  his  bath  in  the  bay,  and  while  indulging 
in  a  most  elaborate  dressing  and  pluming,  had 
kept  one  eye  on  the  infant  in  the  grass  be- 
low, apparently  to  see  how  he  got  on  by  himself. 
When  at  last  the  little  one  stood  panting  and 
discouraged,  he  called,  a  single  "chirp."  The 
relieved  youngster  recognized  it  and  answered, 
and  at  once  flew  over  to  join  him. 

This  restless  young  thrasher,  excepting  that 
he  was  perhaps  somewhat  lighter  in  color  and  a 
little  less  glossy  of  coat,  looked  at  that  moment 
as  old  as  he  ever  would.  Nothing  but  his  in- 
genuous ways,  and  his  soft  baby-cry  "chr-er-er  " 
revealed  his  tender  age.  His  curiosity  when  he 
found  hinlself  in  an  unfamiliar  place  or  on  a 
strange  tree  was  amusing.  He  looked  up  and 


THE  SWALLOW  BABIES.  65 

down,  stretching  his  neck  in  his  desire  to  see 
everything;  he  critically  examined  the  tuft  of 
leaves  near  him;  he  peered  over  and  under  a 
neighboring  branch,  and  then  gazed  gravely 
around  on  the  prospect  before  him.  He  flew 
with  ease,  and  alighted  with  the  grace  of  his 
family,  on  the  bare  trunk  of  a  tree,  the  straight 
side  of  a  picket,  or  any  other  unlikely  place  for 
a  bird  to  be  found.  For  a  week  he  came  and 
went  and  was  watched  and  studied,  but  one 
day  the  strawberries  were  gathered  in  the  old 
garden,  and  the  beautiful  brown  thrush  baby 
appeared  no  more. 

The  world  was  not  deserted  of  bird  voices, 
however. 

"  Swift  bright  wings  flitted  in  and  out 
And  happy  chirpings  were  all  about.' ' 

For  days  the  wood  had  resounded  with  the 
shrill  little  cries  of  swallow  babies,  who  alighted 
on  the  low  trees  on  the  border  while  their  busy 
parents  skimmed  over  the  bay,  or  the  marshy 
shore,  and  every  few  minutes  brought  food  to 
their  clamorous  offspring.  I  had  a  remarkably 
good  opportunity  to  make  the  acquaintance  of  this 
youngster  —  the  white-bellied  swallow.  There 
were  dozens  of  them,  and  the  half  grown  trees 
were  their  chosen  perches.  The  droll  little  fel- 
lows, with  white  fluffy  breasts,  no  feet  to  speak 
of,  and 


66  WHEN  NESTING  IS  OVER. 

"  Built  so  rtarrow 
Like  the  head  of  an  arrow 
To  cut  the  air," 

did  not  even  notice  me  in  my  nook  under  the 
pines. 

They  could  fly  very  well,  and  now  and  then 
one  followed  the  parent  far  out,  calling  sharply 
his  baby  "cheep  "  and  trying  to  get  close  to  her 
in  the  air.  Often  she  turned,  met  and  fed  him 
on  the  wing,  and  then  sailed  on,  while  the  young- 
ster lagged  a  little,  unable  to  give  his  mind  to 
feeding  and  flying  at  the  same  time.  Some- 
times the  mother  avoided  a  too  persistent  pleader 
by  suddenly  rising  above  him.  When  a  little 
one  was  at  rest,  she  usually  paused  before  him  on 
wing  only  long  enough  to  poke  a  mouthful  into 
his  wide  open  beak ;  occasionally  —  but  not  often 
—  she  alighted  beside  him  for  a  few  moments. 

Leading  out  into  the  water  for  the  use  of 
boatmen,  was  a  narrow  foot  pier,  provided  on 
one  side  with  a  hand  rail.  This  rail  was  a  con- 
venient rendezvous  for  all  the  babies  belonging 
to  the  swallow  flock,  a  sort  of  a  community  nur- 
sery. On  this  they  rested  from  the  fatigue  of 
flying;  here  they  were  fed,  and  sometimes  gently 
pushed  off  the  perch  afterward,  as  a  mild  hint 
to  use  their  wings. 

I  wanted  to  find  out  whether  parents  and 
young  knew  each  other  from  all  the  rest.  Of 


LOOKING  FOE  MAMMA.  67 

course  in  this  crowd  it  was  not  possible  to  tell, 
but  I  found  a  better  chance  in  another  favorite 
spot,  an  old  post  that  rose  out  of  the  water, 
eight  or  ten  feet  from  the  shore,  and  so  small 
that  it  was  only  comfortable  for  one,  although 
two  could  stand  on  it.  The  post  seldom  lacked 
its  occupant,  a  baby  swallow  with  head  up, 
looking  eagerly  into  the  flock  above  him.  This 
isolated  youngling  I  made  my  special  study. 
Sometimes  on  the  approach  of  a  grown  up  bird, 
he  lifted  his  wings  and  opened  his  mouth,  peti- 
tioning for,  and  plainly  expecting  food.  At 
other  times  he  paid  not  the  least  attention  to  a 
swallow  passing  over  him,  but  sat  composed  and 
silent,  though  watchful,  apparently  for  the  right 
one  to  come  in  sight.  He  was  often,  though 
not  invariably,  fed  upon  his  appeal;  but  that 
proves  nothing,  for  it  would  require  the  services 
of  a  dozen  parents  to  respond  to  every  request 
of  a  young  bird.  It  not  unf  requently  happened, 
too,  that  one  of  the  flock  always  flying  about 
over  the  water  came  very  near  the  little  one  on 
the  post  as  if  to  offer  him  a  morsel,  but  sud- 
denly, when  almost  upon  him,  wheeled  and  left, 
—  obviously  mistaken.  On  no  such  occasion 
did  that  knowing  youngster  show  any  expecta- 
tion of  attention.  Again  there  would  sometimes 
join  him  on  the  post,  a  second  young  swallow, 
and,  although  crowded,  they  were  quite  con- 


68  WHEN  NESTING  IS  OVER. 

tented  together.  Then  I  noticed  as  the  elders 
swept  over,  that  sometimes  one  baby  begged, 
sometimes  the  other;  never  both  at  once.  This 
seemed  to  indicate  that  the  little  one  knows  its 
parents,  for  no  one  familiar  with  the  craving 
hunger  and  the  constant  opening  of  the  baby 
beak  to  its  natural  purveyors,  will  doubt  that 
when  a  young  bird  failed  to  ask,  it  was  because 
the  elder  was  not  its  parent. 

An  early  lesson  in  many  bird  lives  is  that  of 
following,  or  flying  in  a  flock,  for  at  first  the 
babies  of  a  brood  scatter  wildly,  and  seem  not 
to  have  the  smallest  notion  of  keeping  together. 
The  small  swallows  in  the  trees  near  me  were 
carefully  trained  in  this.  Often  while  one  stood 
chirping  vehemently,  clearly  thinking  himself 
half  starved,  a  grown-up  bird  flew  close  past 
him,  calling  in  very  sweet  tones,  and  stopped  in 
plain  sight,  ten  or  fifteen  feet  away.  Of  course 
the  youngster  followed  at  once.  But  just  as  he 
reached  the  side  of  the  parent,  that  thoughtful 
tutor  took  another  short  flight,  calling  and  coax- 
ing as  before.  This  little  performance  was  re- 
peated three  or  four  times  before  the  pupil  re- 
ceived the  tidbits  he  so  urgently  desired. 

Other  sweet  baby -talk  in  the  trees  came  from 
the  wood-pewee.  The  pewee  I  had  noted  from 
the  building  of  her  beautiful  lichen-covered  cra- 
dle in  the  crotch  of  a  wild-cherry  tree.  The 


DISCOURAGING   THE  BLACKBIRDS.        69 

branch,  dead  and  leafless,  afforded  no  screen  for 
the  brave  little  mother.  Look  when  one  might, 
in  the  hottest  sunshine  or  the  heaviest  rain,  there 
sat  the  bird  quite  up  out  of  the  nest,  head  erect 
and  eyes  eagerly  watching  for  intruders.  The 
pewee,  for  all  his  tender  and  melancholy  utter- 
ances, has  a  fiery  spirit.  He  hesitates  not  to 
clinch  with  a  brother  pewee,  interpolates  his 
sweetest  call  into  the  hot  chases,  and  even  when 
resting  between  encounters,  spreads  his  tail,  flut- 
ters his  wings,  and  erects  his  crest  in  a  most 
warlike  manner.  The  little  dame  was  not  a 
whit  less  vigilant  than  her  spouse.  Let  but  a 
blackbird  pass  over  and  she  was  off  in  a  twink- 
ling, pursuing  him,  pouncing  down  upon  him 
savagely,  and  all  the  time  uttering  her  plaintive 
upe-o-wee!  "  till  her  mate  joined  her,  and  made 
it  so  uncomfortable  for  the  big  foe  that  he  de- 
parted, protesting  to  be  sure  in  vigorous  black- 
birdese,  but  taking  good  care  to  go.  So  persis- 
tent were  the  pewees  in  these  efforts,  that  in  a 
few  days  they  convinced  a  pair  of  blackbirds 
(purple  crow  blackbirds)  that  this  part  of  the 
grove  was  no  longer  a  thoroughfare,  and  whereas 
they  had  been  quite  frequent  visitors,  they  were 
now  rarely  seen. 

The  saucy  robin  who  chose  to  insist  upon  his 
right  to  alight  on  their  tree,  as  he  had  always 
done,  was  harder  to  convince;  in  fact,  he  never 


70  WHEN  NESTING  IS  OVER. 

was  driven  away.  Every  day,  and  many  times 
a  day,  arose  the  doleful  cry  of  distress.  I  al- 
ways looked  over  from  my  seat  on  the  other  side 
of  the  little  open  spot  in  the  wood,  and  invari- 
ably saw  a  robin  on  the  lower  part  of  the  wild- 
cherry  where  the  trunk  divided,  flirting  his  tail, 
jerking  his  wings,  and  looking  very  wicked 
indeed.  Down  upon  him  came  one,  sometimes 
two  pewees.  He  simply  ran  up  the  sloping 
branch  toward  their  nest,  hopped  to  another 
limb,  every  step  bringing  him  nearer,  the  pe- 
wees darting  frantically  at  him  —  and  at  last 
took  flight  from  the  other  side ;  but  not  until  he 
was  quite  ready.  This  drama  was  enacted  with 
clock-like  regularity,  neither  party  seeming  to 
tire  of  its  repetition,  till  the  happy  day  when 
the  pewee  baby  could  fly,  and  appeared  across 
the  grove,  near  me. 

One  morning  I  noticed  the  anxious  parents 
very  busy  on  a  small  oak-tree,  but  a  clump  of 
leaves  made  a  perfect  hiding  place  for  the  in- 
fant, and  I  could  not  see  it  at  first.  There  may 
have  been  more,  although  I  saw  but  one  and 
heard  but  one  baby  cry,  a  prolonged  but  very 
low  sound  of  pewee  quality.  While  their  charge 
lingered  so  near  me,  I  was  treated  to  another 
sensation  by  one  of  the  pair,  —  a  pewee  song. 
The  performer  alighted  almost  directly  over  my 
head,  and  began  at  once  to  sing  in  a  very  sweet 


THE  PEWEE  SONG.  71 

voice,  but  so  low  it  could  not  be  heard  a  dozeij 
feet  away.  There  was  little  variation  in  the 
tones,  but  it  was  rapidly  delivered,  with  longer 
and  shorter  intervals  and  varying  inflections,  a 
genuine  whisper-song  such  as  most  birds  that 
I  have  studied  delight  in.  It  did  not  please 
madam,  his  mate;  she  listened,  looked,  and 
then  rushed  at  the  singer,  and  I  regret  to  say, 
they  fell  into  a  "scrimmage  "  in  the  grass,  quite 
after  the  vulgar  manner  of  the  sparrow. 

They  soon  returned  to  their  duty  of  feeding 
the  baby  behind  the  oak  leaf  screen.  Both 
came  very  nearly  at  the  same  time;  each  one 
on  arriving,  administered  a  significant  "poke" 
behind  the  leaf,  then  indulged  in  several  eccen- 
tric movements  in  their  jerky  style,  dashed  after 
a  fly,  stood  a  full  minute  staring  at  me,  and  at 
last  flew.  This  programme  was  scarcely  varied. 
Inoffensive  as  I  was,  however,  the  birds  plainly 
did  not  relish  my  spying  upon  them,  and  when 
I  returned  from  luncheon,  they  had  removed 
their  infant.  For  a  day  or  two,  I  heard  on  the 
farther  side  of  the  grove  the  sweet,  mournful 
"pe-o-wee"  with  which  this  bird  proclaims  the 
passage  of  another  insect  to  its  fate,  and  then  it 
was  gone,  and  I  saw  and  heard  them  no  more. 

One  morning  I  rose  at  dawn  and  seated  my- 
self behind  my  blind  to  spy  upon  the  doings  of 
the  early  risers.  On  this  particular  morning  I 


72  WHEN  NESTING  IS  OVER. 

£rst  heard  the  tender  notes  of  "the  darling  of 
children  and  bards  "  —  the  bluebird  baby.  The 
cry  was  almost  constant;  it  was  urgent  and 
clamorous  beyond  anything  I  ever  heard  from 
"April's  bird."  I  even  doubted  the  author  till 
I  saw  him.  The  thin  and  worn  looking  mother 
who  had  him  in  charge  worked  without  ceasing, 
while  the  open-mouthed  infant  lifted  up  his 
voice  and  wept  in  a  way  so  petulant  and  persis- 
tent as  to  completely  disguise  its  sweet  bluebird 
quality.  Now  this  charming  youngster,  bearing 
heaven's  color  on  his  wings,  with  speckled  bib 
and  shoulder-cape,  and  honest,  innocent  eyes, 
is  a  special  favorite  with  me;  I  never  before 
saw  a  cry-baby  in  the  family,  and  I  did  not  lose 
sight  of  him.  Three  or  four  days  passed  in 
which  the  pair  frequently  came  about,  but  with- 
out the  father  or  any  other  young  ones.  Had 
there  been  an  accident  and  were  these  the  sur- 
vivors ?  Was  the  troublesome  brawler  a  spoiled 
"only  child"?  All  questions  were  settled  by 
the  appearance  somewhat  later  of  three  other 
young  bluebirds  who  were  not  cry-babies.  The 
father  had  evidently  shaken  off  the  trammels  of 
domestic  life,  and  "gone  for  his  holiday"  into 
the  grove,  where  his  encounters  with  the  pewees 
kept  up  a  little  excitement  for  him. 

When  the  pitiful  looking  little  dame  had  suc- 
ceeded in  shaking  off  her  ne'er-do-well,  the  four 


A  BLUEBIRD  BABY.  73 

little  ones  came  every  day  on  the  lawn  together. 
Sometimes  the  mother  came  near  to  see  how  they 
prospered,  but  oftener  they  were  alone.  They 
cried  no  more ;  they  ran  about  in  the  grass,  and 
if  one  happened  upon  a  fat  morsel,  the  three 
others  crowded  around  him  and  asked  in  pretty 
baby  fashion  for  a  share.  Often  they  went  to 
the  fence,  or  the  lower  bar  of  the  grape  trellis, 
and  there  stood  pertly  erect,  with  head  leaning 
a  little  forward,  as  though  pondering  some  of  the 
serious  problems  of  bluebird  life,  but  in  fact  con- 
cerning themselves  only  with  the  movements  in 
the  grass,  as  now  and  then  a  sudden  plunge 
proved.  Sometimes  one  of  the  group  appeared 
alone  on  the  ground,  when  no  person  was  about 
(except  behind  the  blinds),  and  then  he  talked 
with  himself  for  company,  a  very  charming  mon- 
ologue in  the  inimitable  bluebird  tone,  with 
modifications  suggesting  that  a  new  and  wonder- 
ful song  was  possible  to  him.  He  was  evidently 
too  full  of  joy  to  keep  still. 

The  English  sparrow,  who  had  usurped  the 
martin  house  in  the  yard,  warned  him  off;  the 
tiny  golden  warbler,  who  flitted  about  the  shrub- 
bery all  day,  threatened  to  annihilate  him,  but 
with  infantile  innocence  he  refused  to  under- 
stand hostility;  he  stared  at  his  assailant,  and 
he  held  his  ground.  The  little  flock  of  four  was 
captivating  to  see,  and  though  the  mother  looked 


74  WHEN  NESTING  IS  OVER. 

ragged  and  careless  in  dress,  one  could  but 
honor  the  little  creature  who  had  made  the  world 
so  delightful  a  gift  as  four  beautiful  new  blue- 
birds, in  whose  calm  eyes 

"  Shines  the  peace  of  all  being  without  cloud." 

Other  young  birds  were  plentiful  in  those 
warm  July  days.  From  morning  till  night  the 
chipping  sparrow  baby,  with  fine  streaked 
breast,  uttered  his  shrill  cricket-like  trill.  No 
doubt  he  had  already  found  out  that  he  would 
get  nothing  in  this  world  without  asking,  so,  in 
order  that  nothing  escape  him,  his  demand  was 
constant.  The  first  broods  of  English  sparrows 
had  long  before  united  in  a  mob,  and  established 
themselves  in  the  grove,  and  the  nests  were  a 
second  time  full  of  gaping  infants  calling  ever 
for  more.  The  energies  of  even  this  unattrac- 
tive bird  were  so  severely  taxed  that  he  spared 
us  his  comments  on  things  in  general,  and  our 
affairs  in  particular.  In  the  wood,  young  high- 
holes  thrust  their  heads  out  of  the  door  and 
called;  blackbird  and  martin  babies  flew  over 
with  their  parents,  talking  eagerly  all  the  way ; 
barn  swallow  nestlings  crowded  up  to  the  win- 
dow-sill to  look  out  and  be  fed  by  passing  mo- 
thers; and  cautious  young  kingbirds,  in  black 
caps,  dressed  their  feathers  on  the  edge  of  the 
nest. 


BABY  DAYS  OVER.  75 

But  days  hurried  on ;  before  long,  young  birds 
were  as  big  as  their  fathers  and  had  joined  the 
ranks  of  the  grown-ups.  There  were  no  more 
babies  left  on  tree  or  lawn,  and  holiday  time 
was  over. 


VI. 

IN  SEARCH   OF   THE  BLUEJAY. 

"THE  grass  grows  up  to  the  front  door,  and 
the  forest  comes  down  to  the  back;  it 's  the  end 
of  the  road,  and  the  woods  are  full  of  bluejays." 

Such  was  the  siren  song  that  lured  me  to  a 
certain  nook  on  the  side  of  the  highest  mountain 
in  Massachusetts  one  June.  The  country  was 
gloriously  green  and  fresh  and  young,  as  if  it 
had  just  been  created.  From  my  window  I 
looked  down  the  valley  beginning  between  Grey- 
lock  and  Ragged  Mountain,  and  winding  around 
other  and  (to  me)  nameless  hills  till  lost  in  the 
distance,  apparently  cut  square  off  by  what  looked 
like  an  unbroken  chain  from  east  to  west.  The 
heavy  forests  which  covered  the  hills  ended  in 
steep  grass-covered  slopes,  with  dashing  and 
hurrying  mountain  brooks  between,  and,  save 
the  road,  scarcely  a  trace  of  man  was  seen. 

The  birds  were  already  there.  The  robin 
came  on  to  the  rail  fence,  and  with  rain  pouring 
off  his  sleek  coat,  bade  us  "Be  cheery !  be 
cheery  !  "  the  bluebird  sat  silent  and  motionless 
on  a  fence  post;  the  " veery's  clarion  "  rang  out 


MYSTERIES  ON  FOOT.  11 

all   the  evening  from   the  valley  below;  many 
little  birds  sang  and  called ;  and 

"  The  gossip  of  swallows  filled  all  the  sky." 

But  the  bluejays  ? 

The  bluejays,  too,  were  there.  One  saucily 
flirted  his  tail  at  me  from  the  top  of  a  tree ;  an- 
other sly  rogue  flaunted  his  blue  robes  over  a 
wall  and  disappeared  the  other  side;  a  third 
shrieked  in  my  face  and  slipped  away  behind  a 
tree;  but  one  and  all  were  far  too  wise  to  re- 
veal their  domestic  secrets.  I  knew  mysteries 
were  on  foot  among  them,  as  we  know  little  folk 
are  in  mischief  by  their  unnatural  stillness,  but 
I  knew  also  that  not  until  every  jay  baby  was 
out  of  the  nest,  and  there  was  nothing  to  hide, 
should  I  see  that  cunning  bird  in  his  usual 
noisy,  careless  role. 

The  peculiarity  of  that  particular  corner  of  na- 
ture's handiwork  was  that  any  way  you  went  you 
had  to  climb,  except  east,  where  you  might  roll 
if  you  chose ;  in  fact,  you  could  hardly  do  other- 
wise. The  first  day  of  my  hunt  I  started  west. 
I  climbed  a  hill  devoted  to  pasture,  passed 
through  the  bars,  and  faced  my  mountain.  It 
presented  a  compact  front  of  spruce-trees  closely 
interlaced  at  the  ground,  and  of  course  impas- 
sable. But  a  way  opened  in  the  midst,  the  path 
of  a  mountain  brook,  deserted  now  and  dry.  I 


78  IN  SEAECH  OF  THE  BLUE  JAY. 

sought  an  alpenstock.  I  abandoned  all  impedi- 
menta. I  started  up  that  stony  path  escorted  on 
each  side  by  a  close  rank  of  spruce.  It  was  ex- 
ceedingly steep,  for  the  way  of  a  brook  on  this 
mountain-side  is  a  constant  succession  of  falls. 
I  scrambled  over  rocks ;  I  stumbled  on  rolling 
stones ;  I  "caught "  on  twigs  and  dead  branches ; 
I  crept  under  fallen  tree  trunks ;  the  way  grew 
darker  and  more  winding.  How  merrily  had  the 
water  rushed  down  this  path,  so  hard  to  go  up ! 
How  easy  for  it  to  do  so  again  !  Nothing  seemed 
so  natural.  I  began  to  look  and  listen  for  it. 

A  mysterious  reluctance  to  penetrating  the 
heart  of  the  mountain  by  this  unknown  and 
strangely  hewn  path  stole  over  me.  I  felt  like 
an  intruder.  Who  could  tell  what  the  next  turn 
might  reveal?  On  a  fallen  trunk  that  barred 
my  way  I  seated  myself  to  rest.  The  silence 
was  oppressive ;  not  a  bird  called,  not  a  squirrel 
chattered,  not  an  insect  hummed.  The  whole 
forest  was  one  vast,  deep,  overwhelming  soli- 
tude. I  felt  my  slightest  rustle  an  imperti- 
nence; I  could  not  utter  a  sound;  surely  the 
spirit  of  the  wood  was  near !  A  strange  excite- 
ment, almost  amounting  to  terror,  possessed  me. 
I  turned  and  fled  —  that  is  to  say,  crept  —  down 
my  steep  and  winding  stair,  back  to  the  bars 
where  I  had  taken  leave  of  civilization  (in  the 
shape  of  one  farmhouse). 


IN  THE  STEPS  OF  COWS.  79 

Here  I  paused,  and  again  the  legend  of  blue- 
jays  allured  me.  From  the  bars,  turning 
sharply  to  one  side,  were  the  tracks  of  cows. 
The  strange  feeling  of  oppression  vanished. 
Wherever  the  gentle  beasts  had  passed,  I  could 
go,  sure  of  finding  sunny  openings,  grassy  spots, 
and  nothing  uncanny.  Meekly  I  followed  in 
their  footsteps;  the  solemn  grandeur  of  the 
forest  had  so  stirred  me  that  even  the  footprint 
of  a  cow  was  companionable. 

This  path  led  down  through  a  pleasant  fringe 
of  beech  and  birch  and  maple  trees  to  a  beauti- 
ful brook,  which  was  easily  crossed  on  stones, 
then  up  the  bank  on  the  other  side  into  an  open 
pasture  with  scattering  spruce  and  other  trees. 
Now  I  began  to  look  for  my  bluejays.  I  dis- 
turbed the  peace  of  a  robin,  who  scolded  me 
roundly  from  the  top  spire  of  a  spruce.  I 
started  out  in  hot  haste  a  dainty  bit  of  bird  life 
—  the  black  and  yellow  warbler.  I  listened  to 
the  delightsome  song  of  the  field-sparrow.  I 
heard  the  far-off  drumming  of  the  partridge. 
I  walked  and  climbed  myself  tired. 

Then  I  sat  down  to  wait.  I  made  a  nosegay 
of  blue  violets  and  sweetbrier  leaves ;  I  regaled 
myself  with  wintergreens  in  memory  of  my  child- 
hood; I  wrote  up  my  note-book;  but  never  a 
blue  feather  did  I  see. 

The  next  day,  between  showers,  I  tried  the 


80  IN  SEARCH  OF  THE  BLUE  JAY. 

north,  with  a  guide  —  a  visiting  Massachusetts 
ornithologist  —  to  show  me  a  partridge  nest  with 
the  bird  sitting.  We  followed  the  ups  and 
downs  of  the  road  for  a  mile,  passing  a  meadow 
full  of  bobolinks, 

"  Bubbling  rapturously,  madly," 

climbed  by  a  grass-grown  wood  road  a  moun- 
tain-side pasture,  and  reached  the  forest.  Under 
a  dead  spruce  sat  my  lady,  in  a  snug  bed  among 
the  fallen  leaves.  She  was  wet;  her  lovely 
mottled  plumage  was  disarranged  and  draggled, 
but  her  head  was  drawn  down  into  her  feathers 
in  patient  endurance,  the  mother  love  triumphant 
over  everything,  even  fear.  We  stood  within 
six  feet  of  the  shy  creature;  we  discussed  her 
courage  in  the  face  of  the  human  monsters  we 
felt  ourselves  to  be.  Not  a  feather  fluttered, 
not  an  eyelid  quivered;  truly  it  was  the  perfect 
love  that  casteth  out  fear. 

My  guide  went  on  up  to  the  top  of  Greylock; 
I  turned  back  to  pursue  my  search. 

Eastward  was  my  next  trip,  down  toward  the 
brook  that  made  a  valley  between  Greylock  and 
Ragged  Mountain.  My  path  was  under  the 
edge  of  the  woods  that  fringed  a  mountain 
stream.  Not  the  smallest  of  the  debt  we  owe 
the  bonny  brook  is  that  it  wears  a  deep  gully, 
whose  precipitous  sides  are  clothed  with  a  thick 


A  COOL,   GREEN  NOOK.  81 

growth  of  waving  trees  —  beech,  white  and  black 
birches,  maple,  and  chestnut  —  in  refreshing 
and  delightful  confusion.  The  stream  babbled 
and  murmured  at  my  side  as  I  walked  slowly 
down,  peering  in  every  bush  for  nests,  and  at 
last  I  parted  the  branches  like  a  curtain  and 
stepped  within.  It  was  a  cool  green  solitude,  a 
shrine,  one  of  nature's  most  enchanting  nooks, 
sacred  to  dreams  and  birds  and  —  woodchucks, 
one  of  which  sat  straight  up  and  looked  solemnly 
at  me  out  of  his  great  brown  eyes. 

I  sat  on  the  low-growing  limb  of  a  tree,  and 
was  rocked  by  the  wind  outside.  I  forgot  my 
object.  What  did  it  matter  that  I  should  find 
my  blue  jay?  Was  it  worth  while  to  go  on? 
Was  anything  worth  while,  indeed,  except  to 
dream  and  muse,  lulled  by  the  music  of  the 
" laughing  water"?  Ah!  if  one  were  a  poet ! 

Then  the  birds  came.  A  cat-bird  first,  with 
witching  low  song,  eying  me  closely  with  that 
calm,  dark  eye  of  his,  the  while  he  poured  it  out 
from  a  shrub, 

"  Like  dripping  water  falling  slow 
Round  mossy  rocks,  in  music  rare  ;  " 

a  vireo,  repeating  over  and  over  his  few  notes  in 
tireless  warble;  high  up  in  the  maple  across 
the  chasm,  a  sweet-voiced  goldfinch  singing  his 
soul  away  outside;  and  lastly,  a  robin,  who 
broke  the  charm  by  a  peremptory  demand  to 


82  IN  SEARCH  OF  THE  BLUE  JAY. 

know  my  business  in  his  private  quarters.  I 
rose  to  leave  him  in  possession.  In  rising  I  dis- 
turbed another  resident,  a  red  squirrel,  who  ran 
out  on  a  branch  and  delivered  as  vehement  a 
piece  of  mind  as  I  ever  heard,  stamping  his  little 
feet  and  jerking  his  bushy  tail  with  every  word5 
scolding  all  over,  to  the  tip  of  his  longest  hair. 

I  left  them  in  their  green  paradise.  I  went 
to  my  room.  I  sat  down  in  my  rocker  to  con- 
sider. 

Then  the  winds  got  up.  Through  the  "bel- 
lows pipe,"  as  they  suggestively  call  the  head  of 
the  valley,  there  poured  such  a  gale  that  the 
birds  could  hardly  hold  on  to  their  perches.  All 
day  long  it  tossed  the  branches,  tore  off  leaves, 
beat  the  birds,  rattled  the  windows,  and  filled 
the  blue  cover  to  our  green  bowl  of  a  valley  with 
clouds,  even  half  way  down  the  sides  of  the 
mountains  themselves.  And  at  last  they  began 
to  weep,  and  I  spent  my  twilight  by  an  open 
window,  wrapped  in  a  shawl,  listening  to  the 

"  Unrivaled  one,  the  hermit-thrush, 
Solitary,  singing  in  the  west," 

and  looking  out  upon  the  hills,  where  I  still 
hoped  to  find  my  blue  jay. 


VII. 

IN   THE  WOOD   LOT. 

"THERE  's  blue  jays  a-plenty  up  in  the  wood 
lot,"  said  the  farmer's  boy,  hearing  me  lament 
my  unsuccessful  search  for  that  wily  bird. 
"There's  one  pair  makes  an  awful  fuss  every 
time  I  passes." 

I  immediately  offered  to  accompany  the  youth 
on  his  next  trip  up  the  mountain,  where  he  was 
engaged  in  dragging  down  to  our  level,  sunshine 
and  summer  breezes,  winter  winds  and  pure 
mountain  air,  in  the  shape  of  the  bodies  of  trees, 
whose  noble  heads  were  laid  low  by  the  axes  last 
winter.  One  hundred  and  fifty  cords  of  beauty, 
the  slow  work  of  unnumbered  years,  brought 
down  to  "what  base  uses"  !  the  most  beautiful 
of  nature's  productions  degraded  to  the  lowest 
service  —  to  fry  our  bacon  and  bake  our  pies  ! 

The  farmer  did  not  look  upon  it  exactly  in 
that  way;  he  called  it  "cord-wood,"  and  his 
oxen  dragged  it  down  day  by  day.  The  point 
of  view  makes  such  a  difference  ! 

The  road  that  wound  down  through  the  valley, 
skirting  its  hills,  bridging  its  brooks,  and  con- 


84  IN  THE  WOOD  LOT. 

necting  the  lonely  homestead  with  the  rest  of  the 
human  world,  had  on  one  side  a  beautiful  border 
of  all  sorts  of  greeneries,  just  as  Nature,  with 
her  inimitable  touch,  had  placed  them.  It  was  a 
home  and  a  cover  for  small  birds ;  it  was  a  shade 
on  a  warm  day ;  it  was  a  delight  to  the  eye  at 
all  times.  Yet  in  the  farmer's  eye  it  was  "shift- 
less "  (the  New  Englander's  bogy).  The  other 
side  of  the  road  he  had  "improved;  "  it  gloried 
in  what  looked  at  a  little  distance  like  a  single- 
file  procession  of  glaring  new  posts,  which  on 
approaching  were  found  to  be  the  supports  of 
one  of  man's  neighborly  devices  —  barbed  wire. 
Rejoicing  in  this  work  of  his  hands  on  the  left, 
he  longed  to  turn  his  murderous  weapons  against 
the  right  side.  He  was  labored  with;  he  bided 
his  time ;  but  I  knew  in  my  heart  that  whoever 
went  there  next  summer  would  find  that  pictur- 
esque road  bristling  with  barbed  wire  on  both 
sides.  It  will  be  as  ugly  as  man  can  make  it, 
but  it  will  be  "tidy"  (New  England's  shibbo- 
leth), for  no  sweet  green  thing  will  grow  up  be- 
side it.  Nature  does  n't  take  kindly  to  barbed 
wire. 

The  old  stone  wall  at  that  time  was  an  irresist- 
ible invitation  to  the  riotous  luxuriance  of  vines. 
Elder  -  bushes,  with  their  fine  cream  -  colored 
blossoms,  hung  lovingly  over  it;  blackberry 
bushes,  lovely  from  their  snowy  flowering  to 


THE  FIERY  "  CRITTERS."  85 

their  rich  autumn  foliage,  flourished  beside  it; 
and  a  thousand  and  one  exquisite,  and  to  me 
nameless,  green  things  hung  upon  it,  and  leaned 
against  it,  and  nearly  covered  it  up.  And  what  a 
garden  of  delight  nestled  in  each  protected  cor- 
ner of  an  old-fashioned  zigzag  fence!  Yet  all 
these  are  under  the  ban —  "shiftless." 

Thanks  be  to  the  gods  who  sowed  this  country 
so  full  of  stones  and  trees,  that  the  army  of 
farmers  who  have  worried  the  land  have  n't 
succeeded  in  turning  it  into  the  abomination  of 
desolation  they  admire ! 

And  now,  having  relieved  my  mind,  I  '11  go 
on  with  the  bluejay  hunt. 

The  next  morning  it  was,  for  a  rarity,  fine. 
I  started  up  the  wood  road  ahead  of  my  guide, 
so  that  I  might  take  my  climb  as  easily  as  such 
a  thing  can  be  taken.  Passing  through  the 
bare  pasture,  I  entered  the  outlying  clumps  of 
spruce  which  form  the  advance-guard  of  the  for- 
ests on  Greylock,  and  here  my  leader  overtook 
me,  urging  his  fiery  steeds,  with  their  empty 
sled.  Now  horned  beasts  have  had  a  certain 
terror  for  me  ever  since  an  exciting  experience 
with  them  in  my  childhood.  I  stood  respect- 
fully on  one  side,  prepared  to  fly  should  the 
"critters"  (local)  show  malicious  intent.  On 
they  came,  looking  at  me  sharply  with  wicked 
eyes.  I  made  ready  for  a' rush,  when,  lo  !  they 


86  IN  THE  WOOD  LOT. 

turned  from  me,  and  dashed  madly  into  a  spruce- 
tree,  nearly  upsetting  themselves,  and  threaten- 
ing to  run  away.  We  were  all  afraid  of  each 
other. 

The  mortified  driver  apologized  for  their  be- 
havior on  the  ground  that  "they  ain't  much 
used  to  seeing  a  lady  up  in  the  wood  lot."  I 
generously  forgave  them,  and  then  meekly  fol- 
lowed in  their  footsteps,  up,  up,  up  toward  the 
clouds,  till  we  reached  the  blue  jay  neighborhood. 
Here  we  parted.  My  escort  passed  on  still 
higher,  and  I  seated  myself  to  see  at  last  my 
blue  jays. 

Dead  silence  around  me.  Not  a  leaf  stirred; 
not  a  bird  peeped.  I  began  to  make  a  noise 
myself  —  calls  and  imitations  (feeble)  of  bird- 
notes  to  arouse  their  curiosity;  a  blue  jay  is  a 
born  investigator.  No  sign  of  heaven's  color 
appeared  except  in  the  patches  of  sky  between 
the  leaves. 

Other  wood  dwellers  came;  a  rose -breasted 
grosbeak,  with  lovely  rosy  shield,  with  much 
posturing  and  many  sharp  "clicks,"  essayed  to 
find  out  what  manner  of  irreverent  intruder  this 
might  be.  Later  his  modest  gray-clad  spouse 
joined  him.  They  circled  around  to  view  the 
wonder  on  all  sides.  They  exchanged  dubious- 
sounding  opinions.  They  were  as  little  "used 
to  seeing  a  lady "  as  the  oxen.  They  slipped 


UNDER  ROBIN  SURVEILLANCE.  87 

away,  and  in  a  moment  I  heard  his  rich  song 
from  afar. 

No  one  else  paid  the  slightest  attention  to  my 
coaxing,  and  I  returned  by  easy  stages  to  the 
spruces,  where  I  had  the  misfortune  to  arouse 
the  suspicion  of  a  robin.  Do  you  know  what  it 
is  to  be  under  robin  surveillance?  Let  but  one 
redbreast  take  it  into  his  obstinate  little  head 
that  you  are  a  suspicious  character,  and  he 
mounts  the  nearest  tree  —  the  very  top  twig,  in 
plain  sight  —  and  begins  his  loud  "  Peep  !  peep ! 
tut,  tut,  tut !  Peep!  peep!  tut,  tut,  tut!" 

This  is  his  tocsin  of  war,  and  soon  his  allies 
appear,  and  then 

"  From  the  north,  from  the  east,  from  the  south  and  the  west, 
Woodland,  wheat  field,  corn  field,  clover, 
Over  and  over,  and  over  and  over, 
Five  o'clock,  ten  o'clock,  twelve,  or  seven, 
Nothing  but  robin-calls  heard  under  heaven." 

No  matter  what  you  do  or  what  you  don't  do. 
One  will  perch  on  each  side  of  you,  and  join  the 
maddening  chorus,  driving  every  bird  in  the 
neighborhood  either  to  join  in  the  hue  and  cry 
(as  do  some  of  the  sparrows),  or  to  hide  himself 
from  the  monster  that  has  been  discovered. 

I  tried  to  tire  them  out  by  sitting  absolutely 
motionless ;  but  three,  who  evidently  had  busi- 
ness in  the  vicinity,  for  each  held  a  mouthful  of 
worms,  guarded  me  to  right  and  left  and  in 


88  IN  THE  WOOD  LOT. 

front,  and  never  ceased  their  offensive  remarks 
long  enough  to  stuff  those  worms  into  the  mouths 
waiting  for  them. 

I  was  not  able  to  convince  them  that  I  had  no 
designs  011  robin  households,  and  I  had  to  own 
myself  defeated  again.  Then  and  there  I  aban- 
doned the  search  for  the  bluejay. 


VIII. 

THE   BLUEJAY   BABY. 

MY  time  of  triumph  came,  however,  a  little 
later.  Birds  may  securely  hide  their  nests,  but 
they  cannot  always  silence  their  nestlings.  So 
soon  as  little  folk  find  their  voices,  whether  their 
dress  be  feathers,  or  furs,  or  French  cambric, 
they  are  sure  to  make  themselves  heard  and 
seen. 

One  morning,  two  or  three  weeks  after  I  had 
given  up  the  blue  jay  search,  and  consoled  my- 
self with  looking  after  baby  cat -birds  and 
thrushes,  I  started  out  as  usual  for  a  walk.  I 
turned  naturally  into  a  favorite  path  beside  a 
brook  that  danced  down  the  mountain  below  the 
house.  It  was  near  the  bottom  of  a  deep  gully, 
where  I  had  come  to  grief  in  my  search  for  a 
veery  baby. 

As  I  passed  slowly  up,  looking  well  to  my 
steps,  and  listening  for  birds,  I  heard  a  note 
that  aroused  me  at  once,  —  the  squawk  of  a  blue- 
jay.  It  came  from  the  higher  ground,  and  I 
looked  about  for  a  pathway  up  the  steep  bank 
on  my  right.  At  the  most  promising  point  I 


90  THE  BLUE  JAY  BABY. 

could  select  I  started  my  climb.  Unfortunately 
that  very  spot  had  been  already  chosen  by  a 
small  rill,  a  mere  trickle  of  water,  to  come  down. 
It  was  not  big  enough  to  make  itself  a  channel 
and  keep  to  it,  but  it  sprawled  all  over  the  land. 
Now  it  lingered  in  the  cows'  footprints  and 
made  a  little  round  pool  of  each ;  then  it  loitered 
on  a  level  bit  of  ground,  and  soaked  it  full; 
when  it  reached  a  comfortable  bed  between  the 
roots  of  trees,  it  almost  decided  to  stay  and  be  a 
pond,  and  it  dallied  so  long  before  it  found  a 
tiny  opening  and  straggled  out,  that  if  it  did 
not  result  in  a  pond,  it  did  accomplish  a  treach- 
erous quagmire.  In  fact  that  undecided,  feeble- 
minded streamlet  totally  "demoralized"  the 
whole  hillside,  and  with  its  vagaries  I  had  to 
contend  at  every  step  of  my  way. 

I  reached  the  top,  but  I  left  deep  footprints 
to  be  turned  into  pools  of  a  new  pattern,  and  as 
trophy  I  carried  away  some  of  the  soil  on  my 
dress.  Of  my  shoes  I  will  not  speak;  shall  we 
not  have  souls  above  shoe-leather? 

As  soon  as  I  recovered  breath  after  my  hasty 
scramble  to  dry  ground,  I  started  toward  a  thick- 
growing  belt  of  spruce  trees  which  came  down 
from  the  mountain  and  ended  in  a  point,  —  one 
tree  in  advance,  like  the  leader  of  an  army. 
Here  I  found  the  bird  I  was  seeking,  a  much 
disturbed  bluejay,  who  met  me  at  the  door  —  so 


THE  BABIES  AT  LAST.  91 

to  speak  —  with  a  defiant  squawk,  a  warning  to 
come  no  nearer. 

"Ah  ha!  "  said  I,  exultingly,  "are  your  little 
folk  in  there?  Then  I  shall  see  them." 

I  slowly -advanced;  she  disputed  my  passage 
at  every  step,  but  nothing  was  to  be  seen  till  her 
anxiety  got  the  better  of  her  discretion  and  she 
herself  gave  me  the  precious  secret;  she  sud- 
denly slipped  through  the  trees  to  the  other  side, 
and  became  perfectly  silent. 

I  could  not  follow  her  path  through  the  tangle 
of  trees,  but  I  could  go  around,  and  I  did.  On 
a  dead  spruce  wedged  in  among  the  living  ones 
I  saw  the  object  of  her  solicitude;  a  lovely  sight 
it  was !  Two  young  blue  jays  huddled  close  to- 
gether on  a  twig.  They  were  "humped  up," 
with  heads  drawn  down  into  their  shoulders,  and 
breast  feathers  fluffed  out  like  snowy-white  floss 
silk,  completely  covering  their  feet  and  the  perch. 
No  wonder  that  poor  little  mother  was  anxious, 
for  a  more  beautiful  pair  I  never  saw,  and  to  see 
them  was  to  long  to  take  them  in  one's  hands. 

Silent  and  patient  little  fellows  they  appeared, 
looking  at  me  with  innocent  eyes,  but  showing 
no  fear.  They  were  a  good  deal  more  con- 
cerned about  something  to  eat,  and  when  their 
mother  came  they  reminded  her  by  a  low  peep 
that  they  were  still  there.  She  gave  them  no- 
thing ;  she  was  too  anxious  to  get  them  out  of 


92  THE  BLUE  JAY  BABY. 

my  sight,  and  she  disappeared  behind  a  thick 
branch. 

In  a  moment  I  heard  the  cry  of  a  bird  I  could 
not  see.  So  also  did  the  twins  on  the  tree,  and 
to  them  it  meant  somebody  being  fed;  they 
lifted  their  little  wings,  spread  out  like  fans 
their  short  beautiful  tails,  and  by  help  of  both, 
half  hopped,  half  flew  through  the  branches  to 
the  other  side. 

I  followed,  by  the  roundabout  way  again,  and 
then  I  saw  another  one.  Three  bonny  bairns  in 
blue  were  on  that  dead  spruce  tree;  two  close 
together  as  before,  and  the  third  —  who  seemed 
more  lively  —  sitting  alone.  He  lifted  his  crest 
a  little,  turned  his  head  and  looked  squarely  at 
me,  but  seeing  nothing  to  alarm  him  —  wise  lit- 
tle jay !  —  did  not  move.  Then  again  mamma 
came  forward,  and  remonstrated  and  protested, 
but  only  by  her  one  argument,  a  squawk. 

I  quietly  sat  down  and  tried  to  make  myself 
as  much  a  part  of  the  bank  as  possible,  for  I 
wanted  the  distracted  dame  in  blue  to  go  on  with 
her  household  duties,  and  feed  those  babies. 
After  a  while  she  did  calm  down  a  little,  though 
she  kept  one  distrustful  eye  on  me,  and  now  and 
then  came  near  and  delivered  a  squawk  at  me, 
as  if  to  assure  me  that  she  saw  through  my 
manoeuvres,  and  despised  them. 

But  I  cared  not  at  that  moment  for  her  opin- 


TOO  SHAEP  FOB  ME.  93 

ion  of  me;  she  did  not  move  my  sympathies  as 
do  many  birds,  for  she  appeared  insulted  and 
angry,  not  in  the  least  afraid.  I  wanted  to  see 
her  feed,  and  at  last  I  did  —  almost ;  she  was  to 
the  last  too  sharp  for  me. 

She  came  with  a  mouthful  of  food.  Each 
one  of  the  three  rose  on  his  sturdy  little  legs, 
fluttered  his  wings,  opened  his  beak  and  cried. 
It  was  a  sort  of  whispered  squawk,  which  shows 
that  the  blue  jay  is  a  wary  bird  even  in  the 
cradle.  When  they  were  all  roused  and  eager, 
the  mother  used  that  morsel  as  a  bait  to  coax 
them  through  the  tree  again.  She  did  not  give 
it  to  either  of  her  petitioners,  but  she  moved 
slowly  from  branch  to  branch,  holding  it  before 
them,  and  as  one  bird  they  followed,  led  by 
their  appetite,  like  bigger  folk,  — 

"  Three  souls  with  but  a  single  thought, 
Three  hearts  that  beat  as  one  !  " 

and  as  I  had  no  desire  to  see  them  die  of  star- 
vation, and  leave  the  world  so  much  poorer  in 
beauty,  1  came  away  and  left  them  to  their 
repast. 

That  was  not  the  end  of  the  bluejay  episode. 
A  few  days  later  a  young  bird,  perhaps  one  of 
this  very  trio,  set  out  by  himself  in  search  of 
adventures.  Into  the  wide-open  door  of  the 
barn  he  flew,  probably  to  see  for  what  the  swal- 
lows were  flying  out  and  in.  Alas  for  that 


94  THE  BLUE  JAY  BABY. 

curious  young  bird !  He  was  noticed  by  the 
farmer's  boy,  chased  into  a  corner,  still  out  of 
breath  from  his  first  flight,  then  caught,  thrust 
into  an  old  canary  cage,  brought  to  the  house, 
and  given  to  the  bird-student. 

Poor  little  creature !  he  was  dumb  with  fright, 
though  he  was  not  motionless.  He  beat  himself 
against  the  wires  and  thrust  his  beak  through 
the  openings,  in  vain  efforts  to  escape.  We 
looked  at  him  with  great  interest,  but  we  had 
not  the  heart  to  keep  him  very  long.  In  a  few 
minutes  he  was  taken  out  of  the  cage  in  a  hand 
(which  he  tried  to  bite),  carried  to  the  door  and 
set  free. 

Away  like  a  flash  went  the  little  boy  blue 
and  alighted  in  a  tree  beside  the  house.  For  a 
few  moments  he  panted  for  breath,  and  then  he 
opened  his  mouth  to  tell  the  news  to  whom  it 
might  concern.  In  rapid  succession  he  uttered 
half  a  dozen  jay-baby  squawks,  rested  a  mo- 
ment, then  repeated  them,  hopping  about  the 
tree  in  great  excitement. 

In  less  than  thirty  seconds  his  cries  were 
answered.  A  blue  jay  appeared  on  the  barn;  an- 
other was  seen  in  a  spruce  close  by;  three  came 
to  a  tall  tree  across  the  road;  and  from  near 
and  far  we  heard  the  calls  of  friends  trooping  to 
the  rescue. 

Meanwhile   the   birds  of   the   neighborhood, 


TOO  MUCH  ATTENTION.  95 

where  the  squawk  of  a  jay  was  seldom  heard, 
began  to  take  an  interest  in  this  unusual  gath- 
ering. Two  cedar  birds,  with  the  policy  of 
peace  which  their  Quaker  garb  suggests,  betook 
themselves  to  a  safe  distance,  a  cat-bird  went 
to  the  tree  to  interview  the  clamorous  stranger, 
a  vireo  made  its  appearance  on  the  branches, 
and  followed  the  big  baby  in  blue  from  perch  to 
perch,  looking  at  him  with  great  curiosity,  while 
a  veery  uttered  his  plaintive  cry  from  the  fence 
below. 

All  this  attention  was  too  much  for  a  blue- 
jay,  who  always  wants  plenty  of  elbow  room  in 
this  wide  world.  He  flew  off  towards  the  woods, 
where,  after  a  proper  interval  to  see  that  no 
more  babies  were  in  trouble,  he  was  followed  by 
his  grown-up  relatives  from  every  quarter.  But 
I  think  they  had  a  convention  to  talk  it  over,  up 
in  the  woods,  for  squawks  and  cries  of  many 
kinds  came  from  that  direction  for  a  long  time. 


IN  THE  BLACK  EIVER  COUNTRY. 


Where  shall  we  keep  the  holiday  ? 

Up  and  away !  where  haughty  woods 
Front  the  liberated  floods : 
We  will  climb  the  broad-backed  hills, 
Hear  the  uproar  of  their  joy ; 
We  will  mark  the  leaps  and  gleams 
Of  the  new-delivered  streams, 
And  the  murmuring  river  of   sap 
Mount  in  the  pipes  of  the  trees. 

And  the  colors  of  joy  in  the  bird 
And  the  love  in  his  carol  heard. 
Frog  and  lizard  in  holiday  coats, 
And  turtle  brave  in  his  golden  spots. 

EMERSON. 


IX. 

THAT   WITCHING   SONG. 

A  YEAR  or  two  before  setting  up  my  tent  in 
the  Black  River  Country,  began  my  acquaint- 
ance with  the  author  of  the  witching  song. 

The  time  was  evening;  the  place,  the  veranda 
of  a  friend's  summer  cottage  at  Lake  George. 
The  vireo  and  the  redstart  had  ceased  their 
songs;  the  cat-bird  had  flirted  "good-night" 
from  the  fence ;  even  the  robin,  last  of  all  to  go 
to  bed,  had  uttered  his  final  peep  and  vanished 
from  sight  and  hearing;  the  sun  had  gone  down 
behind  the  mountains  across  the  lake,  and  I  was 
listening  for  the  whippoorwill  who  lived  at  the 
edge  of  the  wood  to  take  up  the  burden  of  song 
and  carry  it  into  the  night. 

Suddenly  there  burst  upon  the  silence  a  song 
that  startled  me.  It  was  loud  and  distinct  as 
if  very  near,  yet  it  had  the  spirit  and  the  echoes 
of  the  woods  in  it ;  a  wild,  rare,  thrilling  strain, 
the  woods  themselves  made  vocal.  Such  it 
seemed  to  me.  I  was  strangely  moved,  and 
filled  from  that  moment  with  an  undying  deter- 
mination to  trace  that  witching  song  to  the  bird 
that  could  utter  it. 


100  THAT  WITCHING  SONG. 

"I  'm  going  to  seek  my  singer,"  was  the  mes- 
sage I  flung  back  next  morning,  as,  opera-glass 
in  hand,  I  started  down  the  orchard  towards  the 
woods.  I  followed  the  path  under  the  apple- 
trees,  passed  the  daisy  field,  white  from  fence  to 
fence  with  beauty,  —  despair  of  the  farmer,  but 
delight  of  the  cottagers,  —  hurried  across  the  pas- 
ture beyond,  skirting  the  little  knoll  on  which 
the  cow  happened  this  morning  to  be  feeding, 
crossed  the  brook  on  a  plank,  and  reached  my 
daily  walk. 

This  was  a  broad  path  that  ran  for  half  a 
mile  on  the  edge  of  the  lake.  Behind  it,  pene- 
trated every  now  and  then  by  a  foot-path,  was 
the  bit  of  old  woods  that  the  clearers  of  this  land 
had  the  grace  to  leave,  to  charm  the  eye  and 
refresh  the  soul  (though  probably  not  for  that 
reason).  Before  it  stretched  the  clear,  spark- 
ling waters  of  Lake  George,  and  on  the  other 
side  rose  abruptly  one  of  the  beautiful  mountains 
that  fringe  that  exquisite  piece  of  water. 

Usually  I  passed  half  the  morning  here, 
seated  on  one  of  the  rocks  that  cropped  out 
everywhere,  filling  my  memory  with  pictures  to 
take  home  with  me.  But  to-day  I  could  not 
stay.  I  entered  one  of  the  paths,  passed  into 
the  grand,  silent  woods,  found  a  comfortable 
seat  on  a  bed  of  pine  needles,  with  the  trunk  of 
a  tall  maple  tree  for  a  back,  and  prepared  to 


TESTING  THOEEAU. 

wait.  I  would  test  Thoreau's  assertion  that  if 
one  will  sit  long  enough  in  some  attractive  spot 
in  the  woods,  sooner  or  later  every  inhabitant 
of  it  will  pass  before  him.  I  had  confidence 
in  Thoreau's  woodcraft,  for  has  not  Emerson 
said :  — 

"  What  others  did  at  distance  hear, 

And  guessed  within  the  thicket's  gloom, 
Was  shown  to  this  philosopher, 

And  at  his  bidding  seemed  to  come  ' '  ? 

and  I  resolved  to  sit  there  till  I  should  see  my 
bird.  I  was  confident  I  should  know  him:  a 
wild,  fearless  eye,  I  was  sure,  a  noble  bearing, 
a  dweller  on  the  tree-tops. 

Alas!  I  forgot  one  phrase  in  Thoreau's  state- 
ment: "sooner  or  later."  No  doubt  the  Con- 
cord hermit  was  a  true  prophet;  but  how  many 
of  the  inhabitants  are  "later  "  —  too  late,  indeed, 
for  a  mortal  who,  unlike  our  New  England  phi- 
losopher, has  such  weak  human  needs  as  food 
and  rest,  and  whose  back  will  be  tired  in  spite 
of  her  enthusiasm,  if  she  sits  a  few  hours  on  a 
rock,  with  a  tree  for  a  back. 

Many  of  the  sweet  and  shy  residents  of  that 
lovely  bit  of  wildness  showed  themselves  while  I 
waited.  A  flicker,  whose  open  door  was  in 
sight,  and  who  was  plainly  engaged  in  setting 
her  house  in  order,  entertained  me  for  a  long 
time.  Silently  she  stole  in,  I  did  not  see  how. 


J0'2  THAT  WITCHING  SONG. 

Her  first  appearance  to  me  was  on  the  trunk, 
the  opposite  side  from  her  nest,  whence  she  slid, 
or  so  it  looked,  in  a  series  of  jerks  to  her  door, 
paused  a  few  minutes  on  the  step  to  look  sharply 
at  me,  and  then  disappeared,  head  first,  within. 
Quick  as  a  jack-in-the-box,  her  head  popped  out 
again  to  see  if  the  spy  had  moved  while  she  had 
been  out  of  sight,  and  finding  all  serene,  she 
threw  herself  with  true  feminine  energy  into  her 
work.  The  beak-loads  she  brought  to  the  door 
and  flung  out  seemed  so  insufficient  that  I 
longed  to  lend  her  a  broom;  but  I  found  she 
had  a  better  helper  than  that,  a  partner. 

When  she  tired,  or  thought  she  had  earned  a 
rest,  she  came  out,  and  flying  to  the  limb  above 
the  nest,  began  softly  calling.  Never  was  the 
ventriloquial  quality  more  plainly  exhibited.  I 
heard  that  low  "ka!  ka!  ka!  ka!  ka!"  long 
repeated,  and  I  looked  with  interest  in  every 
direction  to  see  the  bird  appear.  For  a  long 
time  I  did  not  suspect  the  sly  dame  so  quietly 
resting  on  the  branch,  and  when  I  did  it  was 
only  by  the  closest  inspection  that  I  discovered 
the  slight  jerk  of  the  tail,  the  almost  impercep- 
tible movement  of  the  beak,  that  betrayed  her. 

Another  as  well  as  I  heard  that  call,  and  he 
responded.  He  was  exactly  like  her,  with  the 
addition  of  a  pair  of  black  "  mustachios, "  and  it 
may  be  she  told  him  that  the  strange  object  un- 


A  "WANDERING  VOICE."  103 

der  the  maple  had  not  moved  for  half  an  hour, 
and  was  undoubtedly  some  new  device  of  man's, 
made  of  wood  perhaps,  for  he  did  not  hesitate 
on  the  door-step,  but  plunged  in  at  once,  and 
devoted  himself  to  the  business  in  hand,  clearing 
out,  while  she  vanished. 

But  though  I  watched  this  domestic  scene 
with  pleasure,  and  saw  and  noted  every  feather 
that  appeared  about  me,  the  tree-tops  had  my 
closest  attention,  for  there  I  was  certain  I 
should  find  my  rare  singer.  Hours  passed,  the 
shadows  grew  long,  and  sadly  and  slowly  I  took 
my  way  homewards,  wishing  I  had  a  charm 
against  fatigue,  mosquitoes,  and  other  terrors 
of  the  night,  and  could  stay  out  till  he  came. 

All  through  the  month  of  June  I  haunted  that 
wood,  seeking  the  unknown.  Every  evening  I 
heard  him,  but  no  sight  came  to  gladden  my 
eyes.  I  grew  almost  to  believe  it  merely  "a 
wandering  voice,"  and  I  went  home  with  my 
longing  unsatisfied. 

When  next  the  month  of  roses  came  around, 
I  betook  myself  to  a  spur  of  the  Hoosac  Moun- 
tains to  see  my  birds.  The  evening  of  my 
arrival,  as  the  twilight  gathered,  rose  the  call  of 
my  witching  voice. 

"What  bird  is  that?"  I  demanded,  with  the 
usual  result;  no  one  knew.  (A  chapter  might 
be  written  on  the  ignorance  of  country  people  of 


104  THAT  WITCHING  SONG. 

their  own  birds  and  plants.  A  chapter,  did  I 
say?  A  book,  a  dozen  books,  the  country  is 
full  of  material.) 

"I  shall  find  that  bird,"  I  said,  "if  I  stay  a 
year."  In  the  morning  I  set  outv  The  song 
had  come  from  the  belt  of  trees  that  hang  lov 
ingly  over  a  little  stream  on  its  merry  way  down 
the  mountain,  and  thither  I  turned  my  steps. 
Now,  my  hostess  had  a  drove  of  twenty  cows, 
wild,  head-tossing  creatures, — "Holsteins  "  they 
were,  —  and  having  half  a  dozen  pastures,  they 
were  changed  about  from  day  to  day.  Driving 
them  every  morning  was  almost  as  exciting  as 
the  stampede  of  a  drove  of  horses,  and  it  seemed 
as  if  they  could  never  reconcile  themselves  to  the 
idiosyncrasies  of  the  American  woman.  The 
pasture  where  they  were  shut  for  the  day  was 
as  sacred  from  my  foot  as  if  it  were  filled  with 
mad  dogs.  My  mere  appearance  near  the  fence 
was  a  signal  for  a  headlong  race  to  the  spot  to 
see  what  on  earth  I  was  doing  now. 

I  went  into  the  field,  looking  cautiously 
about,  and  satisfying  myself  that  the  too  curi- 
ous foreigners  were  not  within  sight,  found  a 
comfortable  seat  on  a  bank  overlooking  the 
whole  beautiful  view  of  the  brook  and  its 
waving  green  borders,  and  commanding  the  ap- 
proach to  my  side  of  the  field. 

This  time  again  my  mysterious  singer  proved 


A  PANIC  AMONG  THE  TOWHEES.       105 

to  be  among  the  "later"  ones,  and  after  spend- 
ing an  hour  or  two  there,  I  rose  to  go  back, 
when  in  passing  a  thick-growing  evergreen  tree, 
I  saw  that  I  had  created  a  panic.  There  was  a 
flutter  of  wings,  there  were  cries,  and  on  the 
tree,  in  plain  sight,  the  towhee  bunting  and  his 
brown-clad  spouse.  Of  course  there  must  be 
some  reason  for  this  reckless  display;  I  sought 
the  cause,  and  found  a  nest,  a  mere  depression 
in  the  ground,  and  one  sorry -looking  youngster, 
the  sole  survivor  of  the  perils  of  the  situation. 
Over  that  one  nestling  they  were  as  concerned 
as  the  proverbial  hen  with  one  chicken,  and  they 
flitted  about  in  distress  while  I  looked  at  their 
half -fledged  bantling,  and  hoped  it  was  a  singer 
to  ring  the  delightful  silver-toned  tremolo  that . 
had  charmed  me  that  morning. 

That  evening,  listening  on  the  piazza  to  the 
usual  twilight  chorus,  the  wood-thrush  far-off, 
the  towhee  from  the  pasture,  the  robins  all 
around,  I  heard  suddenly  the  "quee-o"  of  a 
bird  I  knew,  so  near  that  I  started,  and  my  eyes 
fell  directly  upon  him,  standing  on  the  lowest 
limb  of  a  dead  tree,  not  ten  feet  from  me. 

He  was  so  near  I  did  not  need  my  glass,  nor 
indeed  did  I  dare  move  a  finger,  lest  he  take 
flight.  Several  times  he  uttered  his  soft  call, 
and  then,  while  my  eyes  were  fastened  upon  him, 
he  began  quivering  with  excitement,  his  wings 


106  THAT  WITCHING  SONG. 

lifted  a  little,  and  in  a  clear  though  low  tone  he 
uttered  the  long-sought  song.  I  held  my  breath, 
and  he  repeated  it,  each  time  lower  than  before. 
Even  at  that  distance  it  sounded  far  off,  and 
doubtless  many  times  in  the  woods,  when  I 
looked  for  it  afar,  it  may  have  been  over  my 
head. 

A  long  time  —  how  long  I  cannot  guess  —  that 
beautiful  bird  sat  and  sang  his  witching  even- 
ing hymn,  while  I  listened  spellbound. 

It  was  the  tawny  thrush,  —  the  veery. 


X. 

THE   VEERY  MOTHER. 

MY  next  interview  with  the  veery  family  took 
place  the  following  June,  at  the  foot  of  Mount 
Greylock,  in  Massachusetts.  I  had  just  returned 
from  a  walk  down  the  meadow,  put  on  wrapper 
and  slippers,  and  established  myself  by  the  win- 
dow to  write  some  letters.  Pen,  ink,  paper, 
and  all  the  accessories  were  spread  out  before 
me.  I  dipped  my  pen  in  the  ink  and  wrote 
"My  Dear,"  when  a  sound  fell  upon  my  ears: 
it  was  the  cry  of  a  young  bird !  it  was  new  to 
me !  it  had  a  veery  ring ! 

Away  went  my  good  resolutions,  and  my  pen 
with  them ;  papers  flew  to  right  and  left ;  hither 
and  thither  scattered  the  letters  I  had  meant  to 
answer.  I  snatched  my  glass,  seized  my  hat  as 
I  passed,  and  was  outdoors.  In  the  open  air 
the  call  sounded  louder,  and  plainly  came  from 
the  borders  of  the  brook  that  with  its  fringe  of 
trees  divides  the  yard  from  the  pasture  beyond. 
It  was  a  two-syllabled  utterance  like  "quee  wee," 
but  it  had  the  intermitted  or  tremolo  sound  that 
distinguishes  the  song  of  the  tawny  thrush  from 


108  THE  VEEEY  MOTHER. 

others.  I  could  locate  the  bird  almost  to  a  twig, 
but  nobody  cared  if  I  could.  It  was  on  the 
other  side  of  the  brook  and  the  deep  gully 
through  which  it  ran,  and  they  who  had  that 
youngster  in  charge  could  laugh  at  me. 

But  I  knew  the  way  up  the  brookside.  I 
went  down  the  road  to  the  bars,  crossed  the 
water  on  stepping-stones,  and  in  a  few  minutes 
entered  a  cow-path  that  wandered  up  beside  the 
stream.  All  was  quiet;  the  young  thrush  no 
doubt  had  been  hushed.  They  were  waiting  for 
me  to  pass  by,  as  I  often  did,  for  that  was  a 
common  walk  of  mine.  On  this  log  I  sat  one 
day  to  watch  a  woodchuck ;  a  little  further  on 
was  the  rock  from  which  I  had  peeped  into  a 
robin's  nest,  where  one  egg  had  been  alone  a 
week,  and  I  never  saw  a  robin  near  it. 

At  length  I  reached  the  path  that  ran  up  the 
bank  where  I  usually  turned  and  went  to  the 
pasture,  for  beyond  this  the  cow-path  descended, 
and  looked  damp  and  wild,  as  if  it  might  once 
have  been  the  way  of  the  cows,  but  now  was 
abandoned.  Still  all  was  quiet,  and  I  thought 
of  my  letters  unanswered,  of  my  slippers,  and  — 
and  I  turned  to  go  back. 

Just  at  that  moment  that  unlucky  young 
thrush  opened  his  mouth  for  a  cry ;  the  birds 
had  been  too  sure.  I  forgot  my  letters  again, 
and  looked  at  the  path  beyond.  I  thought  I 


MADAM  G  iVE  THE  CUE.  109 

could  see  a  dry  way,  so  I  took  a  step  or  two  for- 
ward. This  was  too  much !  this  I  had  never  be- 
fore done,  and  I  believe  those  birds  were  well 
used  to  my  habits,  for  the  moment  I  passed  my 
usual  bounds  a  cry  rang  out,  loud,  and  a  bird 
flew  past  my  head.  She  alighted  near  me.  It 
was  a  tawny  thrush ;  and  when  one  of  those  shy 
birds,  who  fly  if  I  turn  my  head  behind  the 
blinds,  gets  bold,  there  's  a  good  reason  for  it. 
I  thanked  madam  for  giving  me  my  cue;  I 
knew  now  it  was  her  baby,  and  I  walked  slowly 
on. 

I  had  to  go  slowly,  for  the  placing  of  each 
foot  required  study.  It  is  surprising  what  a 
quantity  of  water  will  stand  on  the  steep  sides 
of  a  mountain.  Some  parts  of  this  one  were 
like  a  marsh,  or  a  saturated  sponge,  and  every- 
where a  cow  had  stepped  was  a  small  pool.  As 
I  proceeded  the  thrush  grew  more  and  more  un- 
easy. She  came  so  near  me  that  I  saw  she  had 
a  gauzy -winged  fly  in  her  mouth,  another  proof 
that  she  had  young  ones  near.  She  called,  with- 
out opening  her  beak,  her  usual  low  "quee." 

Finding  a  dry  spot,  and  the  baby-cry  having 
ceased,  I  sat  down  to  consider  and  to  wait. 
Then  the  bird  seemed  suddenly  to  remember  how 
compromising  her  mouthful  was,  and  she  planted 
herself  on  a  branch  before  my  eyes,  deliberately 
ate  that  fly  and  wiped  her  beak,  as  who  should 


110  THE  VEERY  MOTHER. 

say,  "You  thought  I  was  carrying  that  morsel 
to  somebody,  but  you  see  I  have  eaten  it  myself ; 
there's  nothing  up  that  path."  But  much  as 
I  respected  the  dear  mother,  I  did  not  believe 
her  eloquent  demonstration.  I  selected  another 
point  where  I  could  stop  a  minute,  and  picked 
my  way  to  it.  Then  all  my  poor  little  bird's 
philosophy  deserted  her;  she  came  close  tome, 
she  uttered  the  greatest  variety  of  cries ;  she  al- 
most begged  me  to  believe  that  she  was  the  only 
living  creature  up  that  gully.  And  so  much 
did  she  move  me,  so  intolerably  brutal  did  she 
make  me  feel,  that  for  the  second  time  I  was 
very  near  to  turning  back. 

But  the  cry  began  again.  How  could  I  miss 
so  good  a  chance  to  see  that  tawny  youngster, 
when  I  knew  I  should  not  lay  finger  on  it?  I 
hardened  my  heart,  and  struggled  a  few  feet 
further. 

Then  some  of  the  neighbors  came  to  see  what 
was  the  trouble,  and  if  they  could  do  anything 
about  it.  A  black-and-white  creeper  rose  from 
a  low  bush  with  a  surprised  "chit-it-it-it," 
alighted  on  a  tree  and  ran  glibly  up  the  upright 
branch  as  though  it  were  a  ladder.  But  a 
glance  at  the  "cause  of  all  this  woe"  was  more 
than  his  courage  could  endure ;  one  cry  escaped 
him,  and  then  a  streak  of  black  and  white  passed 
over  the  road  out  of  sight. 


THE  BLEAT  OF  THE  VEERY.     Ill 

Next  came  a  redstart,  himself  the  head  of  a 
family,  for  he  too  had  his  beak  full  of  provisions. 
He  was  not  in  the  least  dismayed ;  he  perched  on 
a  twig  and  looked  over  at  me  with  interest,  as 
if  trying  to  see  what  the  veery  found  so  terrify- 
ing, and  then  continued  on  his  way  home.  A 
snow-bird  was  the  last  visitor,  and  he  came 
nearer  and  nearer,  not  at  all  frightened,  merely 
curious,  but  madam  evidently  distrusted  him, 
for  she  flew  at  him,  intimating  in  a  way  that  he 
plainly  understood  that  "his  room  was  better 
than  his  company." 

Still  I  floundered  on,  and  now  the  disturbed 
mother  added  a  new  cry,  like  the  bleating  of  a 
lamb.  I  never  should  have  suspected  a  bird  of 
making  that  sound;  it  was  a  perfect  "ba-ha-ha." 
Yet  on  listening  closely,  I  saw  that  it  was  the 
very  tremolo  that  gives  the  song  of  the  male  its 
peculiar  thrill.  Her  " ba-ha-ha,"  pitched  to  his 
tone,  and  with  his  intervals,  would  be  a  perfect 
reproduction  of  it.  No  doubt  she  could  sing, 
and  perhaps  she  does,  —  who  knows  ? 

Now  the  mother  threw  in  occasionally  a  louder 
sort  of  call-note  like  "pee-ro,"  which  was 
quickly  followed  by  the  appearance  of  another 
thrush,  her  mate,  I  presume.  He  called,  too, 
the  usual  "quee-o,"  but  he  kept  himself  well  out 
of  sight;  no  reckless  mother-love  made  him  lose 
his  reason.  Still,  steadily  though  slowly,  and 


112  THE  VEEEY  MOTHER. 

with  many  pauses  to  study  out  the  next  step, 
I  progressed.  The  cry,  often  suppressed  for 
minutes  at  a  time,  was  perceptibly  nearer.  The 
bank  was  rougher  than  ever,  but  with  one 
scramble  I  was  sure  I  could  reach  my  prize.  I 
started  carefully,  when  a  cry  rang  out  sudden 
and  sharp  and  close  at  hand.  At  that  instant 
the  stone  I  had  put  faith  in  failed  me  basely  and 
rolled:  one  foot  went  in,  a  dead  twig  caught  my 
hair,  part  of  my  dress  remained  with  the  sharp 
end  of  a  broken  branch,  I  came  to  one  knee  (but 
not  in  a  devotional  spirit);  I  struck  the  ground 
with  one  hand  and  a  brier-bush  with  the  other, 
but  I  did  not  drop  my  glass,  and  I  reached  my 
goal  in  a  fashion. 

I  paused  to  recover  my  breath  and  give  that 
youngster,  who  I  was  persuaded  was  laughing  at 
me  all  the  time,  a  chance  to  lift  up  his  voice 
again.  But  he  had  subsided,  while  the  mother 
was  earnest  as  ever.  Perhaps  I  was  too  near, 
or  had  scared  him  out  of  his  wits  by  my  sensa- 
tional entry.  While  I  was  patiently  studying 
every  twig  on  the  tree  from  which  the  last  cry 
had  come,  the  slight  flutter  of  a  leaf  caught  my 
eye,  and  there  stood  the  long-sought  infant  him- 
self. 

He  was  a  few  feet  below  me.  I  could  have 
laid  my  hands  upon  him,  but  he  did  not  appear 
to  see  me,  and  stood  like  a  statue  while  I  studied 


THE  SUPREME  MOMENT.  113 

his  points.  Mamma,  too,  was  suddenly  quiet; 
either  she  saw  at  last  that  my  intentions  were 
friendly,  or  she  thought  the  supreme  moment 
had  come,  and  was  paralyzed.  I  had  no  leisure 
to  look  after  her;  I  wanted  to  make  acquaint- 
ance with  her  bairn,  and  I  did.  He  was  the  ex- 
act image  of  his  parents ;  I  should  have  known 
him  anywhere,  the  same  soft,  tawny  back,  and 
light  under-parts,  but  no  tail  to  be  seen,  and 
only  a  dumpy  pair  of  wings,  which  would  not 
bear  him  very  far.  The  feathers  of  his  side 
looked  rough,  and  not  fully  out,  but  his  head 
was  lovely  and  his  eye  was  the  wild  free  eye  of  a 
veery.  I  saw  the  youngster  utter  his  cry.  I 
saw  him  fly  four  or  five  feet,  and  then  I  climbed 
the  bank,  hopeless  of  returning  the  way  I  had 
come,  pushed  my  way  between  detaining  spruces, 
and  emerged  once  more  on  dry  ground.  I  had 
been  two  hours  on  the  trail. 

I  slipped  into  the  house  the  back  way,  and 
hastened  to  my  room,  where  I  counted  the  cost : 
slippers  ruined,  dress  torn,  hand  scratched,  toi- 
let a  general  wreck.  But  I  had  seen  the  tawny- 
thrush  baby,  and  I  was  happy.  And  it 's  no 
common  thing  to  do,  either.  Does  not  Emerson 
count  it  among  Thoreau's  remarkable  feats  that 

"  All  her  shows  did  Nature  yield 
To  please  and  win  this  pilgrim  wise  ; 
He  found  the  tawny  thrush's  brood, 
And  the  shy  hawk  did  wait  for  him  "  ? 


XI. 

THE   TAWNY   THRUSH'S   BROOD. 

"HE  found  the  tawny  thrush's  brood,"  says 
Emerson,  in  enumerating  the  special  gifts  of 
the  nature-lover  whose  praise  he  celebrates. 
Whether  the  reference  were  to  Thoreau  or  to 
another  " forest-seer,"  it  was  certainly  to  a  for- 
tunate and  happy  man,  whom  I  have  always 
envied  till  I  learned  to  find  the  shy  brood  my- 
self. 

I  shall  never  forget  the  exciting  and  blissful 
moment  when  I  discovered  my  first  tawny-thrush 
nest.  It  was  the  crowning  event  of  a  long 
search. 

It  was  not  until  the  fourth  year  that  I  had 
looked  for  him,  that  I  came  really  to  know  the 
bird,  to  see  his  family,  and  last  of  all  his  nest. 
My  summer  abiding-place  in  the  Black  River 
country  was  very  near  a  bit  of  woods  where 
veeries  were  plentiful,  and  I  saw  them  at  all 
hours,  and  under  nearly  all  conditions. 

My  favorite  seat  was  at  the  foot  of  a  low- 
growing  tree  in  the  edge  of  the  woods,  where  the 
branches  hung  over  and  almost  hid  me.  From 


SEEKING   THE  NEST.  115 

under  my  green  screen  I  could  look  out  into 
a  field  golden  with  buttercups,  with  scattering 
elms  and  maples,  while  behind  me  was  the  for- 
est, the  chosen  haunt  of  this  bird.  Here,  un- 
seen, I  listened  to  his  song,  — 

"  O  matchless  melody !     0  perfect  art ! 
0  lovely,  lofty  voice  unfaltering !  " 

till  my  soul  was  filled  with  rapture,  and  a  long- 
ing to  know  him  in  his  home  relations  took  such 
possession  of  me  that  the  world  seemed  to  hold 
but  one  object  of  desire,  a  veery's  nest. 

Yet  though  the  woods  were  full  of  them,  so 
wary  and  so  wise  were  the  little  builders  that  not 
a  nest  could  I  find.  I  studied  the  descriptions 
in  the  books ;  I  examined  the  nests  in  a  collection 
at  hand.  The  books  declared,  and  the  speci- 
mens confirmed  the  statement,  that  the  cradle  of 
the  tawny  thrush  would  be  found  amid  certain 
surroundings.  Many  such  places  existed  in  the 
woods,  and  I  never  passed  one  without  seeking 
a  nest ;  but  always  unsuccessfully,  till,  as  June 
days  were  rapidly  passing,  I  came  to  have  a 
feeling  something  akin  to  despair  when  I  heard 
the  veery  notes. 

One  day,  —  it  was  Sunday  afternoon,  —  I  was 
still  grieving  over  the  lost,  or  rather  the  unf ound 
nest,  and  my  friend  was  sitting  composedly  on 
the  veranda  writing  letters,  when  restlessness 
seized  me,  and  I  resolved  to  take  a  quiet  walk. 


116         THE  TAWNY  THRUSH'S  BROOD. 

I  sauntered  slowly  down  the  road,  towards  the 
woods,  of  course;  all  roads  in  that  charming 
place  led  to  the  woods. 

I  had  nearly  reached  the  "Sunset  Corner," 
where  I  had  a  half -formed  intention  of  resting 
and  then  turning  back,  when  my  eyes  fell  upon 
—  but  hold!  I  will  not  describe  it,  lest  I 
enlighten  one  more  collector,  and  aid  in  the 
robbery,  perhaps  the  death,  of  one  more  bird- 
mother.  Suffice  it  to  say  what  I  saw  resembled, 
though  not  perfectly,  the  surroundings  of  a 
veery's  nest  as  described  in  the  books. 

Of  course  there  could  be  no  nest  there,  I 
thought,  yet  the  ruling  passion  asserted  itself 
at  once.  It  would  at  least  do  no  harm  to  look. 
I  left  the  path,  walked  carelessly  up  to  the  spot, 
and  looked  at  it.  It  seemed  empty  of  life ;  but 
as  I  gazed,  there  gradually  took  form  a  head,  a 
pair  of  anxious  eyes  fixed  upon  mine,  a  beak 
pointed  upward,  and  there  was  my  nest !  almost 
at  my  feet. 

Joy  and  surprise  contended  within  me.  I 
thought  not  of  the  mother's  anxiety;  I  stood 
and  stared,  absolutely  paralyzed  with  delight. 

But  not  for  long.  I  remembered  my  friend 
who  had  not  found  the  tawny  thrush's  nest,  and 
with  whom  I  must  instantly  share  my  happiness, 
and  carefully  marking  the  locality,  not  to  lose 
what  I  had  so  accidentally  found,  and  might  so 


ANOTHER   TRAGEDY.  117 

easily  lose,  I  moved  quietly  away  till  I  reached 
the  road.  Then  I  hurried  to  an  opening  in  the 
trees  from  which  the  house  could  be  seen.  Here 
I  stopped ;  the  letter-writer  looked  up.  I  waved 
my  green  bough  in  triumph  above  my  head,  and 
with  the  other  hand  I  beckoned. 

"A  veery's  nest!"  she  thought  at  once. 
Away  went  paper  and  pen,  and  in  a  moment  she 
joined  me.  Together  we  stood  beside  the  beau- 
tiful sitting  thrush,  so  brave,  though  no  doubt 
suffering  from  deadly  terror.  Then  we  slowly 
walked  away,  rejoicing.  It  was  so  near  the 
house!  so  easy  to  watch!  the  bird  not  at  all 
afraid !  All  the  way  home  we  congratulated  our- 
selves. 

The  next  morning  our  first  thought  was  of  the 
veery's  nest,  and  on  starting  out  for  the  day  we 
turned  in  that  direction.  Alas!  the  old  story! 
The  nest  was  overturned  and  thrown  out  of  place, 
the  leaves  were  trampled;  there  had  evidently 
been  a  struggle  of  some  kind.  No  birds,  no 
eggs,  not  a  bit  of  broken  shell  —  nothing  was 
left,  except  one  dark  brown  spotted  feather  from 
a  large  bird,  whether  hawk  or  owl  I  shall  never 
know,  for  neglecting  to  take  it  at  the  moment, 
it  was  gone  when  I  thought  of  it  as  a  witness. 

Again  the  old  longing  for  a  nest  assailed  me ; 
but  I  was  not  without  hope,  for  I  had  my  hint. 
I  had  found  out  what  sort  of  places  the  veeries 


118        THE  TAWNY  THBUSH'S  BROOD. 

in  this  neighborhood  liked.  After  that  I  never 
went  into  the  woods,  on  whatever  errand  bent, 
but  I  kept  my  eyes  open  for  the  chosen  situa- 
tion. I  examined  dozens  of  promising  spots,  and 
I  found  nests  that  had  been  used,  which  proved 
that  I  was  on  the  right  track,  and  kept  up  my 
courage. 

It  was  several  days  before  another  tawny- 
thrush  cradle  in  use  gladdened  our  eyes,  and  this 
was  in  a  wild  part  of  the  woods  where  we  seldom 
went.  We  were  drawn  there  by  the  song  of  a 
tiny  warbler,  whose  nest  my  friend  desired  to 
find,  since  it  was  rare ;  and  in  passing  a  thicket 
of  maple  saplings  three  feet  high,  she  discovered 
a  nest.  She  quickly  parted  the  leaves  and 
looked  in;  three  young  birds  opened  their 
mouths  for  food.  "Veeries!"  she  exclaimed, 
in  surprise.  "What  a  strange  place!  " 

This  little  home  rested  on  a  bare  dead  stick 
that  had  fallen  and  lodged  in  a  living  branch, 
and  the  dead  leaves  used  by  veeries  in  their 
building  made  it  conspicuous,  when  the  eyes  hap- 
pened to  fall  upon  it ;  but  it  was  so  well  con- 
cealed by  living  branches  that  one  might  pass 
fifty  times  and  not  see  it.  I  describe  this  loca- 
tion, for  it  was  very  unusual. 

We  looked  at  the  birdlings ;  we  walked  on  till 
we  came  to  the  place  where  we  turned  from  the 
path  to  see  the  warbler's  little  domicile.  My 


KEEPING   STILL  IN  THE  WOODS.       119 

friend  passed  along.  I  lingered  a  moment,  for 
it  was  a  lovely  spot,  attractive  to  birds  as  to 
bird -lovers,  and  high  up  in  the  air  on  the  up- 
turned roots  of  a  fallen  tree 

"  an  elder  or  two 
Foamed  over  with  blossoms  white  as  spray." 

While  I  stood  there  admiring  the  brave  little 
bush  that  kept  on  living  and  blooming,  though 
lifted  into  an  unnatural  position  by  the  tree  at 
whose  feet  it  had  grown,  some  mysterious  draw- 
ing made  me  look  closely  at  a  spot  beside  the 
road  which  we  had  passed  many  times  without 
special  notice.  There  I  found  our  third  veery 
nest,  the  mother  bird  sitting. 

Henceforth,  every  morning  we  went  up  the 
veery  road,  and  before  each  little  nursery  we  sat 
us  down  to  watch  and  study.  It  was  necessary 
to  be  very  quiet,  the  birds  in  the  saplings  were 
so  nervous;  but  keeping  still  in  the  woods  in 
summer  is  not  the  easy  performance  it  is  else- 
where, though  great  are  the  inducements.  From 
one  side  comes  the  chirp  of  the  winter  wren, 
from  the  other,  low,  excited  calls  of  veeries,  and 
nothing  but  absolute  quiet  seems  necessary  to 
capture  some  of  the  charming  secrets  of  their 
lives.  Meanwhile  a  dancing  and  singing  host 
collects  around  one's  head.  I  call  up  my  phi- 
losophy; I  resolve  not  to  care,  though  I  shall  be 
devoured.  My  philosophy  stands  the  strain;  I 


120        THE  TAWNY  THRUSH'S  BROOD. 

do  not  care  ;  but  my  nerves  basely  fail  me,  and 
after  a  few  moments,  and  a  dozen  stings  here 
and  there,  I  spring  involuntarily  to  my  feet, 
wildly  flourish  my  wisp  of  leaves,  and  of  course 
put  to  instant  flight  the  actors  in  the  drama  be- 
fore me. 

The  pair  of  veeries  in  the  maple  bushes  were 
never  reconciled  to  our  visits.  They  called  and 
cried  in  all  the  varied  inflections  of  their  sweet 
voices,  and  they  moved  uneasily  about  on  the 
low  branches  with  mouths  full  of  food.  But 
though  we  were  as  motionless  as  circumstances 
would  permit,  they  never  learned  to  trust  us. 

One  —  the  mother,  doubtless  —  did  sometimes 
pay  a  flying  visit  to  her  three  darlings  under  the 
leaves;  but  she  undoubtedly  felt  that  she  took 
her  life  in  her  hands  (so  to  speak),  and  it  did 
not  give  her  courage.  She  returned  to  her  post 
and  cried  no  less  than  before.  We  were  not 
heartless ;  we  could  not  bear  to  torture  the  timid 
creatures,  and  therefore  we  never  stayed  very 
long. 

Every  day  we  looked  at  the  growing  babies, 
who  passed  most  of  their  time  in  sleep,  as  babies 
should ;  and  at  last  came  the  time,  sooner  than 
expected,  when  we  found  the  family  had  flitted. 
Nestlings  cradled  near  the  ground  seem  to  be 
spared  the  long  period  in  the  nest  endured  by 
birdlings  who  must  be  able  to  fly  before  they 


BABIES  ON  THE  GROUND.  121 

can  safely  go.  Young  veeries  and  bobolinks, 
song  sparrows  and  warblers,  who  build  low,  ap- 
parently take  leave  of  the  nursery  as  soon  they 
can  stand  up.  Thereafter  the  parents  must 
seek  them  on  the  ground;  and  if  the  student 
follows  their  chirps,  he  will  often  see  the  droll 
little  dumpy  fellows  running  about  or  crouched 
under  bushes  until  their  wing  feathers  shall  grow 
and  lift  them  to  the  bird's  world,  above  the  dull 
earth. 

After  the  exit  of  the  family  in  the  maples,  we 
kept  closer  watch  of  the  remaining  nest.  Every 
day  we  passed  it,  and  not  always  at  the  same 
hour,  yet  never  but  once  did  we  find  the  mother 
away,  and  seven  days  after  that  morning,  when 
not  one  youngster  had  broken  the  shell,  the  fam- 
ily was  gone. 

The  young  birds  in  the  maples  we  had  seen 
in  the  nest  for  five  days  after  they  were  hatched, 
so  we  were  forced  to  believe  that  either  the  sec- 
ond nest  had  been  robbed,  or  that  the  mother 
had  watched  for  us,  and  flown  to  cover  her  ba- 
bies after  they  were  hatched,  till  we  had  paid 
our  daily  visit  and  passed  on.  This  latter  may 
be  the  correct  conclusion,  and  if  so,  her  conduct 
was  entirely  different  from  that  of  any  veery  I 
have  seen. 

Whatever  cause  had  emptied  the  thrush  cradle 
we  found  no  signs  of  disturbance  about  it,  and 


Y2&         THE  TAWNY  THRUSH S  BEOOD. 

we  heard  no  lamentations.  But  we  did  hear 
from  every  impenetrable  tangle  in  the  woods, 
the  baby-cries  of  young  thrushes ;  and  we  ven- 
tured to  hope  that  no  hawk  or  owl  or  squirrel, 
or  other  foe  in  feathers  or  in  fur,  had  carried 
off  the  nestlings  of  that  brave  brown-eyed 
mamma. 


XII. 

A   MEADOW   NEST. 

A  BIRD'S  nest  in  the  middle  of  a  meadow  is  as 
isolated  as  if  on  an  island;  for  the  most  eager 
bird  student,  though  he  may  look  and  long 
afar  off,  will  hesitate  before  he  harrows  the  soul 
of  the  owner  of  the  fair  waving  sea  of  grass 
by  trampling  it  down.  In  such  a  secure  place, 
among  scattered  old  apple-trees,  a  pair  of  veeries 
had  set  up  their  household,  surrounded  and  pro- 
tected from  every  enemy  who  does  not  wear 
wings. 

They  were  late  in  nesting,  for  young  veeries 
were  out  everywhere.  Doubtless  the  first  home 
had  been  destroyed,  and  they  had  selected  this 
retreat  in  the  midst  of  the  tall  grass  for  its  se- 
clusion and  apparent  safety. 

What  dismay,  then,  must  have  filled  the  heart 
of  the  timid  creatures  when  there  arrived,  one 
morning,  a  party  of  men  and  horses  and  ma- 
chines, who  proceeded  at  once,  with  the  clatter 
and  confusion  which  follows  the  doings  of  men, 
to  lay  low  their  green  protecting  walls,  and  ex- 
pose their  cherished  treasures  to  the  greed  or  the 


124  A  MEADOW  NEST. 

cruelty  of  their  worst  enemies !  Not  less  their 
surprise  and  grief  when,  after  the  uproar  of  cut- 
ting, raking  and  carrying  away  their  only 
screen,  there  entered  the  silent  but  watchful 
spies,  who  planted  their  stools  in  plain  sight,  to 
take  note  of  all  their  doings. 

The  nest,  with  its  babies  three,  was  wide  open 
to  the  sun ;  no  one  could  pass  without  seeing  it. 
It  was  in  a  cluster  of  shoots  growing  up  from 
the  roots  of  an  old  apple-tree,  and  so  closely 
crowded  between  them  that  its  shape  was  oval. 

The  nestlings  were  nearly  ready  to  fly,  and  I 
hoped  that  birds  brave  enough  to  come  out  of  the 
woods  and  build  among  apple-trees  would  be 
less  afraid  of  people  than  the  woods  dwellers. 
So  when  I  learned  of  my  comrade's  discovery  I 
hastened  at  once  to  make  the  acquaintance  of 
this,  our  fourth  nesting-veery  of  the  summer. 
*  The  parents  were  absent  when  I  seated  myself 
at  some  distance  from  their  homestead  to  wait. 
They  soon  came,  together,  with  food  in  their 
mouths ;  but  their  eager,  happy  manner  vanished 
at  sight  of  me,  and  they  abandoned  themselves 
to  utter  despair,  after  the  manner  of  veeries. 
They  stood  motionless  on  neighboring  perches, 
and  cried  and  bewailed  the  anticipated  fate  of 
those  babies  for  all  of  the  short  time  that  I  was 
able  to  endure  it.  A  kingbird  came  to  the  tree 
under  which  I  sat,  to  see  for  himself  the  terrible 


THEY  EEFUSE    TO  BE  RECONCILED.    125 

bugaboo,  and  a  robin  or  two,  as  usual,  interested 
themselves  in  the  affairs  of  a  neighbor  in  trouble. 

Thirty  minutes  proved  to  be  as  long  as  I  could 
bring  myself  to  stay,  and  then  I  meekly  retired 
to  the  furthest  corner  of  the  field,  where  I  made 
myself  as  inconspicuous  as  possible,  and  hoped  I 
might  be  allowed  to  remain.  Kingbird  and 
robins  accepted  the  compromise  and  returned  to 
their  own  affairs;  but  the  veeries  by  turns  fed 
the  babies  and  reviled  me  from  a  tree  near  my 
retreat,  till  I  took  pity  on  their  distress  and  left 
the  orchard  altogether. 

Not  only  does  the  veery  exhibit  this  strong 
liking  for  solitude,  and  express  the  loneliness  of 
the  woods  more  perfectly  than  any  other  bird, 
with  the  exception,  perhaps,  of  the  wood-pewee ; 
but  his  calls  and  cries  are  all  plaintive,  many  of 
them  sensational,  and  one  or  two  really  tragic. 

His  most  common  utterance,  as  he  flits  lightly 
from  branch  to  branch,  is  a  low,  sweet  uquee-o," 
sometimes  hardly  above  a  whisper.  When  ev- 
erything is  quiet  about  him  one  may  often  hear 
an  extraordinary  performance.  Beginning  the 
usual  call  of  "quee-o,"  in  a  tender  and  mournful 
tone,  he  will  repeat  it  again  and  again  at  short 
intervals,  every  time  with  more  pathetic  inflec- 
tion, till  the  wrought-up  listener  cannot  resist 
the  feeling  that  the  next  sound  must  be  a  burst 
of  tears.  Although  his  notes  seem  melancholy 


126  A  MEADOW  NEST. 

to  hearers,  however,  the  beautiful  bird  himself  is 
far  from  expressing  that  emotion  in  his  manner. 

Aside  from  the  enchanting  quality  of  his  calls, 
and  the  thrilling  magnetism  of  his  song,  the 
tawny  thrush  is  an  exceedingly  interesting  bird. 
In  his  reserved  way  he  is  socially  inclined,  show- 
ing no  dislike  to  an  acquaintance  with  his  human 
neighbors,  and  even  evincing  a  curiosity  and 
willingness  to  be  friendly,  most  winning  to  see. 

Speak  to  one  who,  as  you  passed,  has  flown 
up  from  the  ground  and  alighted  on  the  lowest 
limb  of  a  tree,  looking  at  you  with  clear,  calm 
eyes.  He  will  not  fly;  he  will  even  answer  you. 
You  may  stand  there  half  an  hour  and  talk  to 
him  and  hear  his  low  replies.  It  seems  as  if  it 
were  the  easiest  thing  in  the  world  to  inspire  him 
with  perfect  confidence,  to  coax  him  to  a  real 
intimacy.  But  there  is  a  limit  to  his  trustful- 
ness. When  he  has  a  nest  -and  little  ones  to 
protect,  as  already  shown,  he  is  a  different  bird ; 
he  is  wild  with  terror  and  distress,  and  refuses 
to  be  comforted  when  one  approaches  the  sacred 
spot. 

This  unfortunate  distrust  of  one's  intentions 
makes  it  very  hard  for  a  student  who  loves  the 
individual  bird  to  watch  his  nest.  One  can't 
endure  to  give  pain  to  the  gentle  and  winsome 
creature.  The  mournful,  despairing  cry  of  both 
parents,  "ke-o-ik!  ke-o-ik!  ke-o-ik!  "constantly 


THE  VEEEY  A  HUMOEIST.  127 

repeated,  makes  me,  at  least,  feel  like  a  robber 
and  a  murderer,  and  no  number  of  "facts  "  to  be 
gained  will  compensate  me  for  the  suffering  thus 
caused. 

One  more  phase  of  veery  character  I  was  sur- 
prised and  delighted  to  learn.  Sitting  on  a  log 
in  the  edge  of  the  woods  one  evening,  just  at 
sunset,  I  listened  to  the  singing  of  one  of  these 
birds  quite  close  to  me,  but  hidden  from  sight. 
I  had  never  been  so  near  a  singer,  and  I  was 
surprised  to  hear,  after  every  repetition  of  his 
song,  alow  response,  a  sort  of  whispered  "chee." 
Was  it  his  mate  answering,  or  criticising  his 
music?  Was  it  the  first  note  of  his  newly- 
fledged  offspring?  Or  could  it  be  sotto  voce 
remarks  of  the  bird  himself  ?  It  was  impossible 
to  decide,  and  I  went  home  much  puzzled  to  ac- 
count for  it ;  but  a  day  or  two  later  the  mystery 
was  solved,  —  the,  thrush  showed  himself  to  be  a 
humorist. 

The  odd  performance  by  which  I  discovered 
this  fact  I  saw  through  my  closed  blind.  The 
bird  was  in  plain  sight  on  a  small  dead  tree,  but 
it  was  a  retired  spot,  where  he  was  accustomed 
to  see  no  one,  and  he  evidently  did  not  suspect 
that  he  had  a  listener. 

He  had  eaten  his  fill  from  a  cluster  of  elder- 
berries  I  had  hung  on  the  tree,  and  he  lingered 
to  sing  a  little,  as  he  often  did.  First  he  ut- 


128  A  MEADOW  NEST. 

tered  a  call,  aloud,  clear  "quee-o,"  and  followed 
it  instantly  by  a  mocking  squawk  in  an  under- 
tone. 1  could  hardly  believe  my  eyes  and  ears, 
and  at  once  gave  much  closer  attention  to  him. 
As  if  for  the  express  purpose  of  convincing  me 
that  I  had  not  been  mistaken,  he  instantly  re- 
peated his  effort ;  and  after  doing  so  two  or  three 
times,  he  poured  out  his  regular  song  in  his 
sweet,  ringing  voice,  and  followed  it  by  a  whis- 
pered "mew,"  almost  exactly  in  the  tone  of 
pussy  herself. 

He  was  not  far  from  my  window,  across  a 
small  yard,  and  as  plainly  seen  through  my 
glass  as  though  not  six  feet  away.  I  saw  his 
beak  and  throat,  and  am  absolutely  certain  that 
he  delivered  every  note.  The  absorbed  singer 
stood  there  motionless  a  long  time,  and  carried 
on  this  queer  conversation  with  himself.  It 
sounded  precisely  like  two  birds,  one  of  whom 
was  mocking  or  ridiculing  the  other  in  a  low 
tone. 

Sometimes  the  undertone,  as  said  above,  was 
a  squawk;  again  it  resembled  a  squeal;  now  it 
was  petulant,  as  though  the  performer  scoffed 
at  his  own  singing ;  and  then  it  was  a  perfect 
copy  of  the  song  itself,  given  in  an  indescribably 
sneering  manner.  I  could  think  of  nothing  but 
the  way  in  which  one  child  will  sometimes  mock 
the  words  of  another. 


A  DROLL  PERFORMANCE.  129 

It  was  very  droll,  as  well  as  exceedingly  in- 
teresting, and  I  hope  some  day  to  study  further 
this  unfamiliar  side  of  the  thrush  nature. 

After  my  unsuccessful  attempt  to  disarm  the 
fears  and  suspicions  of  the  meadow-nesting 
thrushes,  we  left  the  little  family  to  its  much 
loved  solitude,  and  in  a  day  or  two  the  whole 
nestful  departed. 


XIII. 

A   JUNE   ROUND   OF   CALLS. 

"I  SHOULD  like  to  meet  you  two  in  that  rig 
on  Fifth  Avenue,"  calmly  said  our  hostess  one 
morning  in  June,  as  we  started  out  on  our  reg- 
ular round  of  calls. 

What  a  suggestion  !  We  stared  at  each  other 
with  a  new  standard  of  criticism  in  our  eyes. 
We  were  not  exactly  in  ordinary  visiting  cos- 
tume; but  then,  neither  were  we  making  ordi- 
nary visits,  for  the  calling-list  of  June  differs  in 
every  way  from  that  of  January.  The  neigh- 
bors at  whose  doors  we  appeared  would  be  quite 
as  well  (or  as  ill)  pleased  to  see  us  in  our  dull 
green  woods  dress,  with  fresh  leaves  on  our  hats 
to  convey  the  impression  that  we  were  mere  per- 
ambulating shrubs,  with  opera-glasses  instead  of 
cards,  and  camp-stools  in  place  of  a  carriage,  as 
though  we  had  been  in  regulation  array.  Away 
we  went,  the  big  dog  prancing  ahead  with  the 
camp-stool  of  his  mistress. 

Our  first  call  was  upon  a  small  dame  very 
high  up  in  the  world,  thirty  feet  at  least.  The 
mention  of  Fifth  Avenue  suggests  that  possibly 


MANNERS  IN  THE  WOODS.  131 

our  manners  were  not  above  criticism.  We  in- 
troduced ourselves  to  Madam  Wood-Pewee  not 
by  ringing  and  sending  up  cards,  but  by  pausing 
before  her  door,  seating  ourselves  on  our  stools, 
and  leveling  our  glasses  at  her  house.  We  felt, 
indeed,  that  we  had  almost  a  proprietary  inter- 
est in  that  little  lichen  -  covered  nest  resting 
snugly  in  a  fork  of  a  dead  branch,  for  we  had 
assisted  in  building  it,  at  least  by  our  daily 
presence,  during  the  week  or  two  that  she  spent 
in  bringing,  in  the  most  desultory  way,  snips  of 
material,  fastening  them  in  place,  and  moulding 
the  whole  by  getting  in  the  nest  and  pressing 
her  breast  against  it,  while  turning  slowly  round 
and  round.  Now  that  she  had  really  settled  her- 
self to  sit,  we  never  neglected  to  leave  a  card 
upon  her,  so  to  speak,  every  morning. 

As  we  approached  we  were  pleased  to  see  her 
trim  lord  and  master  bearing  in  his  mouth  what 
was  no  doubt  intended  for  a  delicate  offering  to 
cheer  her  weary  hours,  for  a  gauzy  yellow  wing 
stuck  out  on  each  side  of  his  beak,  suggesting 
something  uncommonly  nice  within.  He  stood 
a  moment  till  we  should  pass,  looking  the  picture 
of  unconsciousness,  and  defying  us  to  assert  that 
he  had  a  house  and  home  anywhere  about  that 
tree.  But  when  we  did  not  pass,  after  hesitat- 
ingly hopping  from  perch  to  perch  nearer  the 
nest,  he  deliberately  diverted  yellow  wing  from 


132  A  JUNE  ROUND  OF  CALLS. 

its  original  destiny,  swallowed  it  himself,  and 
wiped  his  beak  with  an  air  that  said:  "There 
now!  What  can  you  make  out  of  that?" 

Ashamed  to  have  deprived  the  little  sitter  of 
her  treat,  we  folded  our  stools  and  resumed  our 
march. 

How  shall  one  put  into  words  the  delights  of 
the  woods  in  June  without  "dropping  into  poe- 
try?" Does  not  our  own  native  poet  say:  — 

"  Who  speeds  to  the  woodland  walks  ? 
To  birds  and  trees  who  talks  ? 
Csesar  of  his  leafy  Rome, 
There  the  poet  is  at  home." 

But  if  one  is  not  a  poet,  must  he  then  suffer 
and  enjoy  in  silence?  When  he  puts  aside  the 
leafy  portiere  and  enters  the  cool  green  paradise 
of  the  trees,  must  he  be  dumb  ?  Slowly,  almost 
solemnly,  we  walked  up  the  beautiful  road  with 
its  carpet  of  dead  leaves.  It  was  as  silent  of 
man's  ways  as  if  he  were  not  within  a  thousand 
miles,  and  we  had  all  the  enjoyment  of  the  deep 
forest,  with  the  comforting  assurance  that  five 
minutes'  walk  would  bring  us  to  people. 

A  small  family  in  dark  slate-color  and  white, 
with  a  curious  taste  for  the  antique  cave-dwell- 
ing, was  next  on  our  list.  The  home  was  an  ex- 
cavation in  the  soft  earth,  held  together  by  the 
roots  of  an  overturned  tree,  and  everything  was 
quiet  when  we  arrived  —  the  two  well -grown  in* 


THE  JUNCO  FAMILY.  133 

fants  sound  asleep  on  their  hair  mattress.  We 
sat  down  to  wait,  and  in  a  moment  we  heard  the 
anxious  "pip"  of  the  returning  parents.  They 
had  been  attending  to  their  regular  morning 
work,  and  both  brought  food  for  those  young- 
sters, who  woke  inopportunely  —  as  babies  will 
—  and  demanded  it  instantly. 

Junco  —  for  he  was  the  head  of  this  house- 
hold—  paused  on  a  twig  near  by,  opened  and 
shut  his  beautiful  white-bordered  tail,  in  the 
embarrassing  consideration  whether  he  should 
go  in  before  our  eyes  and  take  the  risk  of  our 
intentions,  or  let  his  evidently  starving  offspring 
suffer.  He  "eyed  us  over;  "  he  waited  till  his 
modest  little  spouse,  acting  from  feeling  rather 
than  from  judgment  (as  was  to  be  expected  from 
one  of  her  unreasoning  sex),  had  slipped  in  from 
below,  administered  her  morsel  to  those  precious 
b?.bies,  and  escaped  unharmed.  Then  he  plucked 
up  courage,  boldly  entered  his  door,  gave  a  poke 
behind  it,  and  flew  away. 

A  week  later,  after  we  had  called  as  usual  one 
morning  and  found  the  house  empty,  he  brought 
his  pretty  snow-birdlings  in  their  tidy  striped 
bibs  up  to  the  grove  at  the  back  door,  where  we 
often  heard  his  sharp  trilling  little  song,  and 
saw  him  working  like  some  bigger  papas  to  keep 
the  dear  clamorous  mouths  filled. 

The  Junco  neighborhood  was  a  populous  part 


134  A  JUNE  ROUND  OF  CALLS. 

of  our  calling  district.  Behind  his  cave,  in  a 
high  tree,  lived  a  family  of  golden -winged  wood- 
peckers, who  "laughed"  and  talked  as  loud  as 
they  liked,  scorning  to  look  upon  the  two  spies 
so  far  below  them.  Not  quite  so  self-possessed 
and  bold  were  they  a  little  later,  when  madam 
came  up  to  the  grass  by  the  farmhouse  with  her 
young  son  to  teach  him  to  dig,  for  that  is  what 
she  did.  He  was  a  canny  youngster,  though  he 
was  shy,  and  had  no  notion  of  being  left  in  the 
lurch  for  a  moment.  If  mamma  flew  to  the 
fence,  he  instantly  followed ;  did  she  return  to 
the  ground,  baby  was  in  a  second  at  her  side 
demanding  attention.  On  one  occasion  while  I 
was  watching  them  behind  my  blind,  the  mother 
managed  to  slip  away  from  him  and  disappear. 
In  a  moment  he  realized  his  deserted  condition, 
stretched  up,  like  a  lost  chicken,  looking  about 
on  every  side,  and  calling,  in  a  most  plaintive 
tone,  upe-au!  au!"  and  then,  "au!  au!  pe- 
au!"  When  at  length  he  saw  his  mother,  he 
burst  into  a  loud  cry  of  delight,  and  flew  into  a 
locust-tree,  where  I  heard  for  a  long  time  low 
complaining  cries,  as  if  he  reproached  her  for 
leaving  her  baby  alone  on  the  fence. 

On  the  right  of  the  home  of  the  golden  wings, 
in  a  sapling  not  more  than  five  feet  from  the 
ground,  was  the  residence  of  a  gay  little  red- 
start, which  we  had  watched  almost  from  the 


THE  BUGABOO  OF  THE  WOODS.        135 

laying  of  the  foundations.  We  made  our  visit. 
Yesterday  there  were  two  pearls  of  promise 
within;  to-day,  alas!  nothing. 

Squirrels,  we  said;  for  those  beasts  were  the 
bugaboo  of  the  woods  to  its  feathered  inhabi- 
tants. Hardly  a  nest  was  so  high,  so  well  hid- 
den, or  so  closely  watched,  but  some  unlucky 
day  a  little  fellow  —  sportsman,  would  you  call 
him?  —  in  gray  or  red  fur,  would  find  his 
chance,  and  make  his  breakfast  on  next  year's 
song  birds. 

Musing  on  this  and  other  tragedies  among  our 
friends,  we  silently  turned  to  the  next  neighbor. 
At  this  door  we  could  knock,  and  we  always  did. 
(We  desired  to  be  civil  when  circumstances  per- 
mitted.) A  rap  or  two  on  the  dead  trunk 
brought  hastily  to  the  door,  twenty -five  feet  high, 
a  small  head,  with  a  bright  red  cap  and  necktie, 
and  eager,  questioning  eyes.  Observing  that  he 
had  guests,  he  came  out,  showing  his  black  and 
white  coat.  But  one  glance  was  usually  enough ; 
he  declined  to  entertain  us,  and  instantly  took 
his  leave.  We  knew  him  well,  however  —  the 
yellow-bellied  woodpecker,  or  "sapsucker,"  as 
he  was  called  in  the  vicinity.  This  morning  we 
did  not  need  to  knock,  for  one  of  the  family  was 
already  outside,  —  a  young  woodpecker,  clinging 
to  the  bark,  and  dressing  his  nest-ruffled  plum- 
age for  the  grand  performance,  his  first  flight. 


136  A  JUNE  ROUND  OF  CALLS. 

We  resolved  at  once  to  assist  at  the  debut, 
secured  reserved  seats  with  a  good  view,  and 
seated  ourselves  to  wait. 

Didst  ever,  dear  reader,  sit  in  one  position  on 
a  camp-stool  without  a  back,  with  head  thrown 
back,  and  eyes  fixed  upon  one  small  bird  thirty 
feet  from  the  ground,  afraid  to  move  or  turn 
your  eyes,  lest  you  miss  what  you  are  waiting 
for,  while  the  sun  moves  steadily  on  till  his  hot- 
test rays  pour  through  some  opening  directly 
upon  you ;  while  mosquitoes  sing  about  your  ears 
(would  that  they  sang  only !),  and  flies  buzz  nois- 
ily before  your  face ;  while  birds  flit  past,  and 
strange  notes  sound  from  behind ;  while  rustling 
in  the  dead  leaves  at  your  feet  suggests  snakes, 
and  a  crawling  on  your  neck  proclaims  spiders? 
If  you  have  not,  you  can  never  appreciate  the 
enthusiasms  of  a  bird  student,  nor  realize  what 
neck -breaks  and  other  discomforts  one  will  cheer- 
fully endure  to  witness  the  first  flight  of  a  nest- 
ling. 

This  affair  turned  out,  however,  as  in  many 
another  case  of  great  expectations,  to  be  no 
remarkable  performance.  When  the  debutant 
had  made  his  toilet,  he  flew,  as  if  he  had  done 
it  all  his  life,  to  the  next  tree,  where  he  began 
at  once  to  call  for  refreshment,  after  his  exer- 
tion. 

Disappointed,  we  dropped  our  eyes,  whisked 


A  CUCKOO'S  HOUSEKEEPING.          137 

away  our  insect   tormentors,  gathered  up  our 
properties,  and  passed  on  our  way. 

This  was  the  farthest  point  of  our  wanderings. 
The  way  back  was  through  a  narrow  path  beside 
the  oven-bird's  pretty  domed  nest,  then  between 
the  tangle  of  wild-berry  bushes  and  saplings, 
where  a  cuckoo  had  set  up  housekeeping,  and 
where  veeries  and  warblers  had  successfully  hid- 
den their  nests,  tantalizing  us  with  calls  and 
songs  from  morning  till  night;  from  thence 
through  the  garden,  past  the  kitchen  door,  home. 


XIV. 

A    BOBOLINK   RHAPSODY. 

CAN  anything  be  more  lovely  than  a  meadow 
in  June,  its  tall  grass  overtopped  by  daisies, 
whose  open  faces, 

*  *  Candid  and  simple  and  nothing-- withholding  and  free, 
Publish  themselves  to  the  sky  "  ? 

One  such  I  knew,  despised  of  men  as  a  meadow, 
no  doubt,  but  glorious  to  the  eye  with  its  un- 
broken stretch  of  white  bowing  before  the  sum- 
mer breeze  like  the  waves  of  the  sea,  and  charm- 
ing as  well  to  pewee  and  kingbird  who  hovered 
over  it,  ever  and  anon  diving  and  bringing  up 
food  for  the  nestlings.  When,  to  a  meadow  not 
so  completely  abandoned  to  daisies,  where  but- 
tercups and  red  clover  flourish  among  the  grass, 
is  added  the  music  of  the  meadow's  poet,  the 
bobolink,  surely  nothing  is  lacking  to  its  per- 
fection. 

Passing  such  a  field  one  evening,  I  noted  the 
babble  of  bobolinks,  too  far  off  to  hear  well,  and 
the  next  day  I  set  out  down  another  path  which 
passed  through  the  meadow,  to  cultivate  the  ac- 
quaintance of  the  birds.  It  was  a  warm  sum- 


A  STRANGE  CRY.  139 

mer  morning,  near  the  middle  of  June,  and 
when  I  reached  the  spot  not  a  bobolink  was  in 
sight ;  but  I  sought  a  convenient  bank  under  an 
old  apple-tree,  made  myself  as  inconspicuous  as 
possible,  and  waited.  With  these  birds,  how- 
ever, as  I  soon  found  out,  my  precautions  were 
unnecessary.  They  are  not  chary  of  their  music ; 
on  the  contrary,  they  appear  to  sing  directly  to 
a  spectator,  and  they  are  too  confident  of  the  se- 
curity of  the  nest  to  be  disturbed  about  that.  In 
a  moment  a  black  head  with  its  buff  cap  ap- 
peared at  the  top  of  a  grass  stem,  and  instantly 
the  black  body,  with  its  grotesque  white  decora- 
tion, followed.  The  bird  flew  half  a  dozen  feet, 
singing  as  he  went,  as  if  the  movement  of  the 
wings  set  the  music  going,  alighted  a  little  nearer, 
sang  again,  and  finally,  concluding  that  here 
was  something  to  be  looked  after,  a  human 
being,  such  as  he  was  accustomed  to  see  pass  by, 
taking  possession  of  a  part  of  the  bobolink  do- 
main, he  flew  boldly  to  a  small  tree  a  few  yards 
from  me.  He  alighted  on  the  top  twig,  in  plain 
sight,  and  proceeded  to  "look  me  over,"  a  per- 
formance which  I  returned  with  interest.  He 
was  silent  only  a  few  seconds,  but  the  sound 
that  came  from  his  beak  amazed  me ;  it  was  a 
"mew."  If  the  cat-bird  cry  resembles  that  of  a 
cat,  .this  was  a  perfect  copy  of  a  kitten's  weak 
wail.  It  was  always  uttered  twice  in  close 


140  A  BOBOLINK  EHAPSODY. 

succession,  and  sometimes  followed  by  a  harsh 
note  that  proclaimed  his  blackbird  strain,  a 
"chack!" 

His  utterance  was  thus  :  "mew,  mew  (quick- 
ly), chack  !"  and  I  interpreted  it  into  a  warning 
to  me  to  leave  the  premises.  I  did  not  go,  how- 
ever, and  after  several  repetitions  his  vigilance 
began  to  relax.  He  was  really  so  full  of  sweet 
summer  madness  that  it  was  impossible  to  keep 
up  the  role  of  stern  guardian  of  the  nests  under 
the  veil  of  buttercups  and  daisies,  which  he  knew 
all  the  time  I  could  never  find.  So,  when  he 
opened  his  mouth  to  say  "chack,"  a  note  or  two 
would  irresistibly  bubble  out  beside  it,  as  if  he 
said,  "You  really  must  go  away,  my  big  friend. 
We  cannot  have  you  in  our  fields ;  —  but,  after 
all,  is  n't  the  morning  delicious?  " 

After  a  long  conflict  between  desire  to  sing 
and  his  conviction  of  duty  as  special  policeman, 
which  ludicrously  suggested  Mr.  Dick  in  his 
struggle  between  longing  to  be  foolish  with 
David  Copperfield  and  to  be  grave  to  please 
Miss  Betsy,  he  fairly  gave  in  and  did  sing  — 
and  such  a  burst!  Everybody  has  tried  his 
hand  at  characterizing  this  bird's  incomparable 
song,  but  no  one  has  fully  expressed  it,  for 
words  are  not  capable  of  it.  Perhaps  Mrs. 
Spofford  has  caught  the  spirit  as  well  as  any 
one:  — 


FLOODS  OF  MUSIC.  141 

"  Last  year  methinks  the  bobolinks 
Filled  the  low  fields  with  vagrant  tune, 
The  sweetest  songs  of  sweetest  June  — 
Wild  spurts  of  frolic,  always  gladly 
Bubbling,  doubling,  brightly  troubling, 
Bubbling  rapturously,  madly." 

Expressing  himself  was  so  great  a  relief  to 
my  bobolink,  after  his  unnatural  gravity  of  de- 
meanor, that  he  repeated  the  performance  again 
and  again.  I  say  repeated  it;  I  found  that  he 
had  two  ways  of  beginning,  but  after  he  got  into 
his  ecstasy  I  could  think  of  nothing  but  how 
marvelous  it  was,  so  that  whether  the  two  dif- 
fered all  through  I  am  not  sure.  It  was  every 
time  a  new  rapture  to  me  as  well  as  to  him. 
One  of  his  beginnings  that  I  had  time  to  note 
before  I  was  lost  in  the  flood  of  melody  was  of 
two  notes,  the  second  a  fifth  higher  than  the 
first,  with  a  "grace-note,"  very  low  indeed,  be- 
fore each  one.  The  other  beginning  was  also 
two  notes,  the  second  at  least  a  fifth  lower  than 
the  first,  with  an  indescribable  jerk  between, 
and  uttered  so  softly  that  if  I  had  been  a  little 
further  away  I  could  not  have  heard  it.  It 
sounded  like  "tut,  now." 

Seeing  that  I  remained  motionless,  the  bird 
forgot  altogether  his  uncongenial  occupation  of 
watchman,  and  launched  himself  into  the  air 
toward  me,  soaring  round  and  round  me,  letting 
fall  such  a  flood,  such  a  torrent,  of  liquid  notes 


142  A  BOBOLINK  RHAPSODY. 

that  I  thought  half  a  dozen  were  singing,  —  and 
then  dropped  into  the  grass.  Soon  others  ap- 
peared here  and  there,  and  sang  it  mattered  not 
how  or  where,  —  soaring  or  beating  the  wings, 
on  a  grass  stem,  the  top  of  a  tree,  hidden  in 
the  grass,  or  rudely  rocked  by  the  wind,  they 
"sang  and  sang  and  sang." 

Then  for  a  while  all  was  still.  A  turkey  lead- 
ing her  fuzzy  little  brood  about  in  the  grass  thrust 
her  scrawny  neck  and  anxious  head  above  the 
daisies,  said  "quit!  quit!  "  to  me,  and  returned 
to  the  brooding  mother-tones  that  kept  her  fam- 
ily around  her.  Tiring  of  my  position  while 
waiting  for  the  concert  to  resume,  I  laid  my 
head  back  among  the  ferns,  letting  the  daisies 
and  buttercups  tower  above  my  face,  —  strangely 
enough,  by  this  simple  act  realizing  as  never  be- 
fore the  real  motherhood  of  the  earth. 

While  I  lay  musing,  lo,  a  sudden  burst  of 
music  above  my  head!  A  bobolink  sailed  over 
my  face,  not  three  feet  from  it,  singing  his  mer- 
riest, and  then  dropped  into  the  grass  behind  me. 
Oh,  never  did  I  so  much  wish  for  eyes  in  the 
back  of  my  head!  He  must  be  almost  within 
touch,  yet  I  dared  not  move;  doubtless  I  was 
under  inspection  by  that  keen  dark  eye,  for  the 
first  movement  sent  him  away  with  a  whir. 

My  next  visitors  were  a  small  flock  of  six  or 
eight  cedar-birds,  who  were  seriously  disturbed 


A  SQUIRREL'S  PANIC.  143 

by  my  choice  of  a  couch.  Evidently  the  green 
tent  above  my  head  was  their  chosen  tree,  and 
they  could  not  give  it  up.  Finding  me  perfectly 
silent,  they  would  come,  perch  in  various  parts 
of  the  branches,  and  turn  their  wise-looking 
black  spectacles  down  to  look  at  me,  keeping  up 
an  animated  conversation  the  while.  We  call 
the  cedar-bird  silent  because  he  has,  as  generally 
supposed,  but  one  low  note ;  but  he  can  put  into 
that  one  an  almost  infinite  variety  of  expres- 
sions. If  I  so  much  as  moved  a  hand,  instantly 
my  Quaker-clad  friends  dived  off  the  tree  below 
the  bank  across  the  road,  as  if,  in  their  despair, 
they  had  flung  themselves  madly  into  the  brook 
at  the  bottom.  But  I  did  not  suspect  them  of 
so  rash  an  act,  and,  indeed,  in  a  few  minutes 
the  apple-tree  again  resounded  with  their  cries. 

Meanwhile  the  sun  marched  relentlessly  on, 
and  the  shadows  without  and  the  feelings  within 
alike  pointed  to  the  dinner  hour  (12  M.).  I 
rose,  and  thereby  created  a  panic  in  my  small 
world.  Six  cedar-birds  disappeared  over  the 
bank,  a  song  sparrow  flew  shrieking  across  the 
field,  a  squirrel  interrupted  in  his  investigations 
fled  madly  along  the  rail  fence,  every  few  steps 
stopping  an  instant,  with  hindquarters  laid  flat 
and  tail  resting  on  the  rail,  to  see  if  his  head 
was  still  safe  on  his  shoulders. 

I  gathered  up  my  belongings  and  sauntered 


144  A  BOBOLINK  RHAPSODY. 

off  toward  home,  musing,  as  I  went,  upon  the 
bobolink  family.  I  had  not  once  seen  or  heard 
the  little  mates.  Were  they  busy  in  the  grass 
with  bobolink  babies?  and  did  they  enjoy  the 
music  as  keenly  as  I  did?  How  much  I  "wanted 
to  know"!  How  I  should  like  to  see  the  nests 
and  the  nestlings !  What  sort  of  a  father  is  the 
gay  singer?  (Some  of  the  blackbird  family  are 
exemplary  in  this  relation.)  Does  he  drop  his 
part  of  poet,  of  reveler  of  the  meadows,  I  won- 
der, and  come  down  to  the  sober  prose  of  stuff- 
ing baby  mouths?  Are  bobolinks  always  this 
jolly,  delightful  crowd?  Are  they  never  quarrel- 
some? Alas!  it  would  take  much  more  than 
one  day,  however  sunny  and  however  long,  to 
tell  all  these  things. 

At  the  edge  of  the  meadow  I  sat  down  again, 
hoping  for  one  more  song,  and  then  came  the 
crown  of  the  whole  morning,  the  choicest  re- 
served for  the  last.  A  bird  sailed  out  from 
behind  the  daisies,  passed  over  my  head,  and  de- 
livered the  most  bewitching  rhapsody  I  had  yet 
heard.  Not  merely  once  did  he  honor  me,  but 
again  and  again  without  pausing,  as  if  he  in- 
tended to  fill  me  as  full  of  bobolink  rapture  as 
he  was  himself.  His  voice  was  peculiarly  rich 
and  full,  and,  what  amazed  me,  his  first  three 
notes  were  an  exact  reproduction  of  the  wood- 
thrush's  (though  more  rapidly  sung),  including 


THE  FINEST  AT  LAST.  145 

the  marvelous  organ-like  quality  of  that  bird's 
voice.  I  could  have  listened  forever. 

"  Oh,  what  have  I  to  do  with  time  ? 
For  this  the  day  was  made." 

But  when  he  had  uttered  his  message  he  sank 
back  into  the  grass,  and  I  tore  myself  away  from 
the  bobolink  meadow,  and  came  home  far  richer 
and  far  happier  than  when  I  set  out. 


XV, 

THE  BOBOLINK'S  NESTO 

MY  acquaintance  with  the  bobolink  was  re- 
sumed a  year  later  in  the  lovely  summer  home 
of  a  friend  in  the  Black  River  Country,  within 
sight  of  the  Adirondack  hills.  We  had  found 
many  nests  in  the  woods  and  orchards,  but  the 
meadow  had  been  safe  from  our  feet,  partly 
because  of  the  rich  crops  that  covered  it,  but 
more,  perhaps,  because  of  the  hopelessness  of 
the  search  over  the  broad  fields  for  anything  so 
easily  hidden  as  a  ground  nest. 

One  evening,  however,  our  host  with  a  trium- 
phant air  invited  us  to  walk,  declaring  that  he 
could  show  us  a  nest  more  interesting  than  we 
had  found. 

The  gentleman  was  a  joker,  and  his  state- 
ments were  apt  to  be  somewhat  embellished  by 
his  vivid  imagination,  so  that  we  accepted  them 
with  caution;  but  now  he  looked  exultant,  and 
we  believed  him,  especially  as  he  took  his  hat 
and  stick  and  started  off. 

Down  the  road  we  went,  a  single  carriage-way 
between  two  banks  of  grass  a  yard  high.  After 


THE  NEST  IN  THE  GRASS.  147 

carefully  taking  his  bearings  by  certain  small 
elm -trees,  and  searching  diligently  about  for  an 
inconspicuous  dead  twig  he  had  planted  as  a 
guide-post,  our  leader  confidently  waded  into 
the  green  depths,  parted  the  stalks  in  a  certain 
spot,  and  bade  us  look. 

We  did.  In  a  cosy  cup,  almost  under  our 
feet,  were  cuddled  together  three  bird-babies. 

"Bobolinks?"  we  cried  in  a  breath. 

"Yes,  bobolinks,"  said  our  guide;  "and  you 
had  to  wait  for  an  old  half -blind  man  to  find 
them  for  you." 

We  were  too  much  delighted  to  be  annoyed 
by  his  teasing;  a  bobolink's  nest  we  never 
hoped  to  see. 

Nor  should  we,  but  for  a  discovery  of  mine 
that  very  morning.  Walking  down  that  same 
road,  I  had  noticed  in  the  deep  grass  near  the 
path  a  clump  of  exquisite  wild  flowers.  They 
were  of  gorgeous  coloring,  shaded  from  deep 
orange  to  rich  yellow,  full  petaled  like  an  Eng- 
lish daisy,  and  about  the  size  of  that  flower,  with 
the  edge  of  every  tiny  petal  cut  in  fairy-like 
fringe.  I  admired  them  for  some  minutes  as 
they  grew,  and  then  gathered  a  handful  to  grace 
my  room.  As  I  came  up  to  the  house,  my  host 
stood  on  the  steps ;  his  eyes  fell  at  once  upon  my 
nosegay,  and  a  look  of  horror  came  into  his  face. 

My  heart  sank.     Had  I  unwittingly  picked 


148  THE  BOBOLINKS  NEST. 

some  of  his  special  treasures,  some  rare  exotic 
which  he  had  cultivated  with  care  ? 

"Where  did  you  find  that  stuff?"  he  de- 
manded. I  was  instantly  relieved;  no  man  will 
call  a  treasure  "stuff." 

"In  the  meadow,"  I  answered.  "What  is 
it?" 

"You  must  show  me  the  exact  spot,"  he  said, 
emphatically.  "I  shall  have  a  man  out  at  once, 
to  get  it  up,  root  and  branch.  It 's  the  devil's 
paintbrush." 

"Then  his  majesty  has  good  taste  in  color," 
I  said. 

"That  stuff,"  he  went  on,  "spreads  like  wild- 
fire. It  '11  eat  up  my  meadow  in  a  year." 

I  turned  back  and  showed  him  the  spot  from 
which  my  flowers  had  come,  pointing  out  at  the 
same  time  two  or  three  other  clumps  I  could  see 
farther  out  in  the  waving  green  sea,  and  before 
long  his  farmer  and  he  were  very  busy  over  them. 

Now  it  appeared  that  in  tramping  about  the 
deep  grass,  where  we  bird-students  dared  not 
set  our  feet,  he  had  nearly  stepped  on  a  bobo- 
link, who  flew,  and  thus  pointed  out  her  nest; 
and  he  had  taken  its  bearings  with  the  intention 
of  putting  us  to  shame. 

We  looked  long  at  the  tiny  trio  so  compactly 
packed  in  their  cradle,  till  they  awoke  and  de- 
manded supplies.  Then  we  carefully  replanted 


IN  THE  CRADLE.  149 

the  dead  stick,  taking  its  exact  bearings  be- 
tween three  trees,  drew  a  few  grass-stems  to- 
gether in  a  braid  at  the  margin  so  that  we  should 
not  lose  what  we  had  so  accidentally  gained,  and 
then  we  left  them. 

During  this  inspection  of  the  nest,  the  "poet 
of  the  year  "  and  his  spouse  were  perched  on  two 
neighboring  trees,  utterly  unmoved  by  our  move- 
ments. They  were,  no  doubt,  so  perfectly  con- 
fident of  the  security  of  the  hiding-place  that  it. 
never  occurred  to  them  even  to  look  to  see  what 
we  three  giants  were  doing.  At  least,  such  we 
judged  were  their  sentiments  by  the  change  in 
their  manners  somewhat  later,  when  they  thought 
we  were  likely  to  make  discoveries. 

The  meadow  itself  had  been  our  delight  for 
weeks.  When  we  arrived,  in  the  beginning  of 
June,  it  was  covered  with  luxuriant  clumps  of 
blue  violets,  and  great  bunches  of  blue-eyed 
grass  that  one  might  gather  by  the  handful  at 
one  picking.  Later  the  higher  parts  were 
thickly  sprinkled  with  white  where 

"  Gracefully  as  does  the  fawn, 
Sweet  Marguerites  their  dainty  heads  uphold," 

while  the  hollows  were  golden  with  buttercups. 
Then  the  grass  under  the  warm  June  sun 
stretched  up  inch  by  inch  till  it  was  three  or  four 
feet  high  and  very  thick.  Meanwhile  a  bobo- 
link or  two,  and  as  many  meadow-larks  had 


150  THE  BOBOLINK'S  NEST. 

taken  possession  of  it,  and  it  was  made  still 
richer  by  the  sweet  minor  strains  of  the  lark, 
and  the  song  of  the  bird  who, 

' '  like  the  soul 

Of  the  sweet  season  vocal  in  a  bird, 
Gurgles  in  ecstasy  we  know  not  what." 

The  evening  after  our  humiliation  —  which 
we  lost  sight  of  in  our  joy  —  we  returned  to  the 
charmed  spot,  parted  again  the  sweet  grass  cur- 
tains and  gazed  down  at  the  baby  bobolinks, 
while  the  parents  perched  on  two  trees  as  before 
and  paid  not  the  smallest  attention  to  us. 

We  passed  on  down  the  road  to  the  gate  where 
we  could  look  into  a  neighboring  pasture  and 
watch  for  a  pair  of  red -headed  woodpeckers 
who  lived  in  that  pleasant  place,  and  catch  the 
reflection  of  the  sunset  in  the  northern  sky. 
While  we  lingered  there,  I  looked  with  my  glass 
back  at  the  bobolinks,  and  chanced  to  see  Bobby 
himself  in  the  act  of  diving  into  the  grass. 
When  he  came  out  he  seemed  to  notice  me,  and 
instantly  began  trying  to  mislead  me. 

He  came  up  boldly,  flew  to  another  spot  where 
a  weed  lifted  its  head  above  the  green,  and 
dropped  into  the  grass  exactly  as  though  he  was 
going  to  the  nest;  then  he  rose  again,  repeated 
his  tactics,  pausing  every  time  he  came  out  and 
calling,  as  if  to  say,  "  This  is  my  home ;  if  you  're 
looking  for  a  nest,  here  it  is  !  "  His  air  was  so 


BOBOLINK   WILES.  151 

business-like  that  it  would  naturally  deceive  one 
not  possessed  of  our  precious  secret,  the  real 
spot  where  his  three  babies  were  cradled,  and 
one  might  easily  be  led  all  over  the  meadow  by 
the  wily  fellow. 

For  six  successive  days  we  paid  our  short  vis- 
its, and  found  the  nestlings  safe.  They  did  not 
seem  to  mature  very  fast,  though  they  came  to 
look  up  at  us,  and  open  their  mouths  for  food. 
But  on  the  seventh  day  there  was  a  change  in 
Master  Robert's  behavior.  On  the  afternoon  of 
this  day,  wishing  to  observe  their  habits  more 
closely,  I  found  a  seat  under  a  tree  at  some  dis- 
tance, not  near  enough,  as  I  thought,  to  disturb 
them. 

I  did  disturb  them  sorely,  however,  as  in- 
stantly appeared.  The  calmness  they  had  shown 
during  all  the  days  we  had  been  looking  at  the 
nest  was  gone,  and  they  began  to  scold  at  once. 
The  head  of  the  family  berated  me  from  the  top 
of  a  grass-stem,  and  then  flew  to  a  tall  old  stump, 
and  put  me  under  the  closest  surveillance,  con- 
stantly uttering  a  queer  call  like  "Chack-que- 
dle-la,"  jerking  wings  and  tail,  and  in  everyway 
showing  that  he  considered  me  intrusive  and  al- 
together too  much  interested  in  his  family  affairs. 
I  admitted  the  charge,  I  could  not  deny  it ;  but 
I  did  not  retire. 

At  last  he   apparently  determined  to  insist 


152  THE  BOBOLINK'S  NEST. 

upon  my  going,  for  he  started  from  his  high 
perch  directly  toward  me.  Swiftly  and  with  all 
his  force  he  flew,  and  about  twenty  feet  from  me 
swooped  down  so  that  I  thought  he  would  cer- 
tainly strike  my  face.  I  instinctively  dodged, 
and  he  passed  over,  so  near  that  the  wind  from 
his  wings  fanned  my  face.  This  was  a  hint  I 
could  not  refuse  to  take.  I  left  him,  for  the 
time. 

That  evening  when  we  went  for  our  usual  call, 
lo !  the  nest  was  empty.  At  not  more  than  seven 
or  eight  days  of  age,  those  precocious  infants  had 
started  out  in  the  world!  That  explained  the 
conduct  of  the  anxious  papa  in  the  afternoon, 
and  I  forgave  him  on  the  spot.  I  understood 
his  fear  that  I  should  discover  or  step  on  his 
babies  three,  scattered  and  scrambling  about 
under  all  that  depth  of  grass.  The  abandoned 
homestead,  which  we  carefully  examined,  proved 
to  be  merely  a  cup-shaped  hollow  in  the  ground, 
slightly  protected  by  a  thin  lining. 

In  a  few  days  the  wandering  younglings  were 
up  in  front  of  the  house,  where  we  could  watch 
the  parents  drop  into  the  grass  with  food;  and 
where,  of  course,  they  were  safe  from  anybody's 
intrusion.  I  had  one  more  encounter  with  his 
lordship.  After  the  young  had  been  out  a  week 
or  more,  they  seemed  in  their  moving  about  to 
get  back  near  to  the  old  place.  As  I  took  my 


EXCITEMENT  IN  THE  FAMILY.          153 

usual  walk  one  evening,  down  the  carriage  drive 
to  the  gate,  I  found  two  pairs  of  bobolinks  on 
one  tree;  the  two  mothers  with  food  in  their 
mouths,  evidently  intended  for  somebody  down 
in  the  grass;  and  the  two  fathers,  very  much 
disturbed  at  my  appearance.  They  greeted  me 
with  severe  and  reproving  "chacks,"  and  finally 
favored  me  with  the  most  musical  call  I  have 
heard  from  the  sweet-voiced  bird  of  the  meadow. 
It  was  like  ukee-lee!  "  in  loud  and  rich  tones, 
and  it  was  many  times  repeated. 

I  assured  them  that  I  had  no  wish  to  disturb 
their  little  ones ;  though,  if  I  had  been  able  to 
lift  the  whole  grassy  cover  to  peep  at  the  two 
small  families  hidden  there,  I  fear  I  should  have 
yielded  to  the  temptation. 

Our  bird  had  been  somewhat  erratic  in  mak- 
ing his  home  far  from  his  fellows,  —  so  social 
are  these  birds  even  in  nesting-time;  but  now 
he  was  joined  by  more  of  his  kind  from  the 
meadows  below,  and  to  the  beautiful  waving 
carpet  of  green,  dotted  here  and  there  with  great 
bunches  of  black- eyed  Susans  and  devil's  paint- 
brushes (what  names!),  and  sprinkled  all  over 
with  daisies,  now  beginning  to  look  a  little 
disheveled  and  wild,  was  added  the  tantalizing 
interest  of  dozens  of  little  folk  running  about 
under  its  shelter. 

The  next  week  brought  to  the  meadow  what 


154  THE  BOBOLINK'S  NEST. 

must  seem  from  the  bobolink  point  of  view  al- 
most the  end  of  the  world.  Men  and  horses  and 
great  rattling  machines,  armed  with  sharp 
knives,  which  laid  low  every  stem  of  grass  and 
flower,  and  let  the  light  of  the  sun  in  upon  the 
haunts  and  the  nests  of  the  bobolink  babies. 

Happily,  however,  not  all  the  earth  is  meadow 
and  subject  to  this  annual  catastrophe;  and  I 
think  the  whole  flock  took  refuge  in  a  pasture 
where  they  were  safe  from  the  hay-cutters,  and 
had  for  neighbors  only  the  cows  and  the  crow 
babies. 


XVI. 

THE  TANAGER'S  NEST. 

ONE  of  the  prettiest  memory-pictures  of  my 
delightful  June  on  the  banks  of  the  Black  River 
is  the  nest  of  a  scarlet  tanager,  placed  as  the 
keystone  of  one  of  Nature's  exquisite  living 
arches.  The  path  which  led  to  it  was  almost  as 
charming  as  the  nest  itself.  Lifting  a  low-hang- 
ing branch  of  maple  at  the  entrance  to  the 
woods,  we  took  leave  of  the  world  and  all  its 
affairs,  and  stepped  at  once  into  a  secluded 
path.  Though  so  near  the  house,  the  woods 
were  solitary,  for  they  were  private  and  very 
carefully  protected.  Passing  up  the  rustic  foot- 
path, under  interlacing  boughs  of  maple  and 
beech,  we  came  at  length  to  a  sunny  open  spot, 
where  all  winter  grain  is  kept  for  partridges, 
squirrels,  and  other  pensioners  who  may  choose 
to  come.  From  this  little  opening  one  road 
turned  to  the  wild-berry  field,  where  lived  the 
cuckoo  and  the  warblers ;  another  opened  an  in- 
viting way  into  the  deep  woods;  a  third  went 
through  the  fernery.  We  took  that,  and  passed 
on  through  a  second  lovely  bit  of  wood,  where 


156  THE  TANAGEE'S  NEST. 

the  ground  was  wet,  and  ferns  of  many  kinds 
grew  luxuriantly,  and  the  walk  was  mostly  over 
a  dainty  corduroy  of  minute  moss-covered  logs. 

At  the  end  of  the  fernery  are  two  ways.  The 
first  runs  along  the  edge  of  the  forest,  whose 
outlying  saplings  hang  over  and  make  a  cool 
covered  walk.  Down  this  path  I  almost  had  an 
adventure  one  day.  The  morning  was  warm 
and  I  was  alone.  As  I  came  out  of  this  covered 
passage,  beside  an  old  stump,  I  noticed  in  a  de- 
pression in  the  ground  at  my  feet  a  squirming 
mass  of  fur.  On  looking  closer  I  saw  four  or 
five  little  beasts  rolling  and  scrambling  over 
each  other.  They  were  as  big,  perhaps,  as  a 
month-old  kitten,  but  they  were  a  good  deal 
more  knowing  than  pussy's  babies,  for  as  I 
drew  near  they  stopped  their  play  and  waited 
to  see  what  would  happen.  I  looked  at  them 
with  eager  interest.  They  were  really  beauti- 
ful; black  and  white  in  stripes,  with  long  bushy 
tails.  Black  and  white,  and  so  self-possessed !  — 
a  thought  struck  me.  "Mephitis,"  I  gasped, 
and  instantly  put  several  feet  more  between  us. 
So  attractive  and  playful  were  they,  however, 
that  notwithstanding  I  feared  it  might  be  hard 
to  convince  their  mamma,  should  she  appear,  of 
my  amiable  intentions,  I  could  not  resist  another 
look.  Calm  as  a  summer  morning  walked  off 
one  of  the  mephitis  babies,  holding  his  pretty  tail 


MEPHITIS  BABIES  AT  PLAY.  157 

straight  up  like  a  kitten's,  while  the  other  four 
went  on  with  their  frolic  in  the  grass.  At  this 
moment  I  heard  a  rustle  in  the  dead  leaves,  and 
having  no  desire  to  meet  their  grown-up  rela- 
tives, I  left  in  so  great  haste  that  I  took  the 
wrong  path,  and  finally  lost  myself  for  a  time  in 
a  tangle  of  wild  raspberry  bushes,  whose  long 
arms  reached  out  on  every  side  to  scratch  the 
face  and  hands  or  catch  the  dress  of  the  unwary 
passer-by. 

The  other  of  the  two  ways  spoken  of  was  a 
road,  soft-carpeted  with  dead  leaves.  To  reach 
the  tanager's  nest  we  took  that,  and  came,  a 
little  further  on,  to  a  big  log  half  covered 
with  growing  fungi  and  laid  squarely  across  the 
passage.  This  was  the  fungus  log,  another 
landmark  for  the  wanderer  unfamiliar  with 
these  winding  ways.  On  this,  if  I  were  alone, 
I  always  rested  awhile  to  get  completely  into 
the  woods  spirit,  for  this  is  the  heart  of  the 
woods,  with  nothing  to  be  seen  on  any  side  but 
trees.  Cheerful,  pleasant  woods  they  are,  of 
sunny  beech,  birch,  maple,  and  butternut,  with 
branches  high  above  our  heads,  and  a  far  outlook 
under  the  trees  in  every  direction.  There  is  no 
gloom  such  as  evergreens  make;  no  barricade 
of  dark  impenetrable  foliage,  behind  which 
might  lurk  anything  one  chose  to  imagine,  from 
a  grizzly  bear  to  an  equally  unwelcome  tramp. 


158  THE  TANAGEKS  NEST. 

In  this  lovely  spot  come  together  four  roads 
and  a  path,  and  to  the  pilgrim  from  cities  they 
seem  like  paths  into  paradise.  That  on  the  right 
leads  by  a  roundabout  way  to  the  "corner," 
where  one  may  see  the  sunset.  The  next,  straight 
in  front,  is  the  passage  to  the  nest  of  the  winter 
wren.  The  far  left  invites  one  to  a  wild  tangle 
of  fallen  trees  and  undergrowth,  where  veeries 
sing,  and  enchanting  but  maddening  warblers 
lure  the  bird-lover  on,  to  scramble  over  logs, 
wade  into  swamps,  push  through  chaotic  masses 
of  branches,  and,  while  using  both  hands  to  make 
her  way,  incidentally  offer  herself  a  victim  to 
the  thirsty  inhabitants  whose  stronghold  it  is. 
All  this  in  a  vain  search  for  some  atom  of  a  bird 
that  doubtless  sits  through  the  whole,  calmly 
perched  on  the  topmost  twig  of  the  tallest  tree, 
shielded  by  a  leaf,  and  pours  out  the  tantalizing 
trill  that  draws  one  like  a  magnet. 

Between  this  road  and  the  wren's  highway  a 
path  runs  upward.  It  is  narrow,  and  guarded 
at  the  opening  by  a  mossy  log  to  be  stepped 
over,  but  it  is  most  alluring.  Up  that  route  we 
go.  On  the  left  as  we  pass  we  notice  two  beau- 
tiful nests  in  saplings,  so  low  that  we  can  look 
in;  redstarts  both,  and  nearly  always  we  find 
madam  at  home.  We  pass  on,  step  over  a  sec- 
ond mossy  log,  pause  a  moment  to  glance  at  a 
vireo's  hanging  cradle  on  the  right,  and  arrive 


THE  TANAGEE  SHOWS   US  THE  NEST.    159 

at  length  at  a  crossing  road,  on  the  other  side  of 
which  our  path  goes  on,  with  a  pile  of  logs  like 
a  stile  to  go  over.  Over  the  logs  we  step,  walk 
a  rod  or  two  further,  stop  beside  the  blackened 
trunk  of  a  fallen  tree,  turn  our  faces  to  the  left, 
and  behold  the  nest. 

Before  us  is  one  of  nature's  arches.  A  maple 
sapling,  perhaps  fifteen  feet  high,  has  in  some 
way  been  bowed  till  its  top  touched  the  ground 
and  became  fastened  there,  a  thing  often  seen 
in  these  woods.  Thus  diverted  from  its  original 
destiny  of  growing  into  a  tree,  it  has  kept  its 
"sweetness  and  light,"  sent  out  leaves  and  twigs 
through  all  its  length,  and  become  one  of  the 
most  beautiful  things  in  the  woods  —  a  living 
arch.  Just  in  the  middle  of  this  exquisite  bow, 
five  feet  above  the  ground,  is  the  tanager's  nest, 
well  shielded  by  leaves.  We  never  should  have 
found  it  if  the  little  fellow  in  scarlet  had  not 
made  so  much  objection  to  our  going  up  this 
particular  passage  that  we  suspected  him  of  hav- 
ing a  secret  in  this  quarter.  He  went  ahead  of 
us  from  tree  to  tree,  keeping  an  eye  on  us,  and 
calling,  warily,  "chip-chur!"  When  we  sat 
down  a  few  moments  to  see  what  all  the  fuss 
was  about,  we  saw  his  spouse  in  her  modest 
dress  of  olive  green  on  a  low  branch.  She,  too, 
uttered  the  cry  "chip-chur!"  and  seemed  dis- 
turbed by  our  call.  Looking  around  for  the 


160  THE  TANAGEWS  NEST. 

object  of  their  solicitude,  our  eyes  fell  at  the 
same  instant  on  the  nest.  We  dared  not  speak, 
but  an  ecstatic  glance  from  my  comrade,  with  a 
hand  laid  on  her  heart  to  indicate  her  emotions, 
announced  that  our  hopes  were  fulfilled;  it  was 
the  nest  we  were  seeking. 

The  birds,  seeing  that  we  meant  to  stay,  flew 
away  after  a  while,  and  we  hastened  to  secrete 
ourselves  before  they  should  return,  by  pla- 
cing our  camp-stools  in  a  thick  growth  of  sap- 
lings just  higher  than  our  heads.  We  crowned 
ourselves  with  fresh  leaves,  not  as  conquerors, 
though  such  we  felt  ourselves,  but  as  a  disguise 
to  hide  our  heads.  We  daubed  our  faces  here 
and  there  with  an  odorous  (not  to  say  odious) 
preparation  warranted  to  discourage  too  great 
familiarity  on  the  part  of  the  residents  already 
established  in  that  spot.  We  subsided  into 
silence. 

The  birds  returned,  but  were  still  wary.  As 
before,  the  male  perched  high  and  kept  a  sharp 
eye  out  on  the  country  around,  and  I  have  no 
doubt  soon  espied  us  in  our  retreat.  Madam 
again  tried  to  "screw  her  courage  up"  to  visit 
that  nest.  Nearer  and  nearer  she  came,  paus- 
ing at  every  step,  looking  around  and  calling  to 
her  mate  to  make  sure  he  was  near.  At  last, 
just  as  she  seemed  about  to  take  the  last  step 
and  go  in,  and  we  were  waiting  breathless  for 


THE  DOG'S  SNEEZE.  161 

her  to  do  it,  a  terrific  sound  broke  the  silence. 
The  big  dog,  protector  and  constant  companion 
of  my  fellow -student,  overcome  by  the  torment 
of  mosquitoes,  and  having  no  curiosity  about 
tanagers  to  make  him  endure  them,  had  yielded 
to  his  emotions  and  sneezed.  Away  went  the 
tanager  family,  and,  laughing  at  the  absurd  acci- 
dent, away  we  went  too,  happy  at  having  dis- 
covered the  nest,  and  planning  to  come  the  next 
day.  We  came  next  day,  and  many  days  there- 
after, but  never  again  did  we  see  the  birds  near. 
They  abandoned  the  nest,  doubtless  feeling  that 
they  had  been  driven  away  by  a  convulsion  of 
nature. 

One  day,  somewhat  later,  in  the  winter  wren's 
quarter,  where  there  were  pools  left  by  a  heavy 
rain,  we  met  them  again.  Madam  was  bathing, 
and  her  husband  accompanied  her  as  guard  and 
protector.  They  flew  away  together.  All  of 
June  we  heard  him  sing,  and  we  often  followed 
him,  but  never  again  did  we  surprise  a  secret  of 
his,  till  the  very  last  day  of  the  month.  We 
had  been  making  a  visit  to  our  veery  nests,  and 
on  our  way  back  noticed  that  the  tanager  was 
more  than  usually  interested  in  our  doings.  He 
seemed  very  busy  too,  with  the  air  of  a  person 
of  family.  While  we  were  watching  to  see 
what  it  meant,  he  caught  a  flying  insect  and 
held  it  in  his  mouth.  Then  we  knew  he  had  lit- 


162  THE  TANAGE&S  NEST. 

tie  folk  to  feed,  so  we  seated  ourselves  on  the 
fungus  log,  and  waited  for  him  to  point  one 
out.  He  did.  He  could  not  resist  giving  that 
delicate  morsel  to  his  first-born.  With  many 
wary  approaches,  he  dropped  at  last  into  the 
scanty  undergrowth,  and  there,  a  foot  above  the 
ground,  we  saw  the  young  tanager.  He  was  a 
little  dumpling  of  a  fellow,  with  no  hint  in  his 
baby- suit  of  the  glory  that  shall  clothe  him  by  and 
by.  But  where  was  the  mother  ?  and  where  had 
they  nested?  But  for  that  untimely  sneeze,  as  I 
shall  always  believe,  they  would  have  made  their 
home  in  that  beautiful  nest  on  the  arch,  and  we 
should  have  been  there  to  see. 


XVII. 

THE   WILES   OF   A   WARBLER. 

"  Hark  to  that  petulant  chirp  !     What  ails  the  warbler  ? 
Mark  his  capricious  ways  to  draw  the  eye." 

WE  called  him  the  blue,  but  that  was  not  his 
whole  name  by  any  means.  Fancy  a  scientist 
with  a  new  bird  to  label,  contenting  himself 
with  one  word!  His  whole  name  is  —  or  was 
till  lately  —  black-throated  blue-backed  warbler, 
or  Dendroica  ccerulescens,  and  that  being  fairly 
set  down  for  future  reference  for  whom  it  may 
concern,  I  shall  call  him  henceforth,  as  we  did 
in  the  woods,  the  blue. 

For  a  day  or  two  at  first  he  was  to  us,  like 
many  another  of  his  size,  only  a  "wandering 
voice."  But  it  was  an  enticing  voice,  a  sweet- 
toned  succession  of  z-z-z  in  ascending  scale,  and 
it  was  so  persistent  that  when  we  really  made 
the  attempt,  we  had  no  trouble  in  getting  sight 
of  the  little  beauty  hardly  bigger  than  one's 
thumb.  He  was  a  wary  little  sprite,  and  though 
he  looked  down  upon  us  as  we  turned  opera - 
glasses  toward  him,  —  a  battery  that  puts  some 
birds  into  a  panic,  — he  was  not  alarmed.  He 


164  THE  WILES  OF  A  WARBLER. 

probably  made  up  his  mind  then  and  there,  that 
it  should  be  his  special  business  to  keep  us  away 
from  his  nest,  for  really  that  seemed  to  be  his 
occupation.  No  sooner  did  we  set  foot  in  the 
woods  than  his  sweet  song  attracted  us.  We 
followed  it,  and  he,  carelessly  as  it  seemed,  but 
surely,  led  us  on  around  and  around,  always  in 
a  circle  without  end. 

My  fellow  bird  -  student  became  fairly  be- 
witched, and  could  not  rest  till  she  found  his 
nest.  For  my  part  I  gave  up  the  warbler  fam- 
ily long  ago,  as  too  small,  too  uneasy,  too  fond 
of  tree-tops,  to  waste  time  and  patience  over.  In 
these  her  native  woods,  my  comrade  led  in  our 
walks,  and  the  moment  we  heard  his  tantalizing 
z-z-z  she  turned  irresistibly  toward  it.  I  fol- 
lowed, of  course,  happy  to  be  anywhere  under 
these  trees. 

One  morning  she  tracked  him  inch  by  inch  till 
she  was  fortunate  enough  to  trace  him  to  a  wild 
corner  in  the  woods  given  up  to  a  tangle  of 
fallen  trees,  saplings,  and  other  growth.  She 
went  home  happy,  sure  she  was  on  the  trail. 
The  next  day  we  turned  our  steps  to  that  quarter 
and  penetrated  the  jungle  till  we  reached  a  mod- 
erately clear  spot  facing  an  impenetrable  mass 
of  low  saplings.  There  we  took  our  places,  to 
wait  with  what  patience  we  might  for  the  blue. 

Our  lucky  star  was  in  the  ascendant  that  day, 


THE  WARBLER  DELIGHTED.  165 

for  we  had  not  been  there  three  minutes  before 
a  small,  inconspicuous  bird  dropped  into  the 
bushes  a  few  feet  from  us.  My  friend's  eye  fol- 
lowed her,  and  in  a  second  fell  upon  the  nest  the 
little  creature  was  lining,  in  a  low  maple  about 
two  feet  from  the  ground. 

But  who  was  she  ?  For  it  is  one  of  the  diffi- 
culties about  nests,  that  the  brightly-colored 
male,  whom  one  knows  so  well,  is  very  sure  not 
to  show  himself  in  the  neighborhood,  and  his 
spouse  is  certain  to  look  just  like  everybody  else. 
However,  there  is  always  some  mark  by  which 
we  may  know,  and  as  soon •  as  the  watcher  se- 
cured a  good  look  she  announced  in  an  excited 
whisper,  "We  have  it !  a  female  blue,  building." 

So  it  proved  to  be,  and  we  planted  our  seats 
against  trees  for  backs,  and  arranged  ourselves 
to  stay.  The  dog  seeing  this  preparation,  and 
recognizing  it  as  somewhat  permanent,  with  a 
heavy  sigh  laid  himself  out  full  length,  and 
composed  himself  to  sleep. 

The  work  over  that  nest  was  one  of  the  pret- 
tiest bits  of  bird-life  I  ever  watched.  Never 
was  a  scrap  of  a  warbler,  a  mere  pinch  of  feath- 
ers, so  perfectly  delighted  with  anything  as  she 
with  that  dear  little  homestead  of  hers.  It  was 
pretty ;  it  looked  outside  like  the  dainty  hang- 
ing cradle  of  a  vireo,  but  instead  of  being  sus- 
pended from  a  horizontal  forked  twig,  it  was 


166  THE  WILES  OF  A  WARBLER. 

held  in  an  upright  fork  made  by  four  twigs  of 
the  sapling. 

The  little  creature's  body  seemed  too  small  to 
hold  her  joy;  she  simply  could  not  bring  her 
mind  to  leave  it.  She  rushed  off  a  short  dis- 
tance and  brought  some  infinitesimal  atom  of 
something  not  visible  to  our  coarse  sight,  but 
very  important  in  hers.  This  she  arranged  care- 
fully, then  slipped  into  the  nest  and  moulded  it 
into  place  by  pressing  her  breast  against  it  and 
turning  around. 

Thus  she  worked  for  some  time,  and  then 
seemed  to  feel  that  her  task  was  over,  at  least 
for  the  moment.  Yet  she  could  not  tear  herself 
away.  She  flew  six  inches  away,  then  instantly 
came  back  and  got  into  the  nest,  trying  it  this 
way  and  that.  Then  she  ran  up  a  stem,  and  in 
a  moment  down  again,  trying  that  nest  in  a  new 
way,  from  a  fresh  point  of  view.  This  perform- 
ance went  on  a  long  time,  and  we  found  it  as 
impossible  to  leave  as  she  did ;  we  were  as  com- 
pletely charmed  with  her  ingenuous  and  bewitch- 
ing manners  as  she  was  with  her  new  home. 

Well  indeed  was  it  that  we  stayed  that  morn- 
ing and  enriched  ourselves  with  the  beautiful 
picture  of  bird  ways,  for  like  many  another  fair 
promise  of  the  summer  it  came  to  naught. 

We  had  not  startled  her,  she  had  not  ob- 
served us  at  all,  nor  been  in  the  least  degree 


THE  DOG  INSISTED   UPON  ATTENTION.    167 

hindered  in  her  work  by  our  silent  presence, 
twenty  feet  away  and  half  hidden  by  her  leafy 
screen.  But  the  next  day  she  was  not  there. 
After  we  had  waited  half  an  hour,  my  friend 
could  no  longer  resist  a  siren  voice  that  had 
lured  us  for  days  (and  was  never  traced  home, 
by  the  way).  I  offered  to  wait  for  the  little 
blue  while  she  sought  her  charmer. 

We  were  near  the  edge  of  the  woods,  and  she 
was  obliged  to  pass  through  part  of  a  pasture 
where  sheep  were  kept.  Her  one  terror  about 
her  big  dog  was  that  he  should  take  to  making 
himself  disagreeable  among  sheep,  when  she 
knew  his  days  would  be  numbered,  so  she  told 
him  to  stay  with  me.  He  had  risen  when  she 
started,  and  he  looked  a  little  dubious,  but  sat 
down  again,  and  she  went  away. 

He  watched  her  so  long  as  she  could  be  seen 
and  then  turned  to  me  for  comfort.  He  came 
close  and  laid  his  big  head  on  my  lap  to  be 
petted.  I  patted  his  head  and  praised  him  a 
while,  and  then  wished  to  be  relieved.  But 
flattery  was  sweet  to  his  ears,  and  the  touch  of 
a  hand  to  his  brow,  —  he  declined  to  be  put 
away;  on  the  contrary  he  demanded  constant 
repetition  of  the  agreeable  sensations.  If  I 
stopped,  he  laid  his  heavy  head  across  my  arm, 
in  a  way  most  uncomfortable  to  one  not  accus- 
tomed to  dogs.  These  methods  not  availing,  he 


168  THE  WILES  OF  A  WARBLER. 

sat  up  close  beside  me,  when  he  came  nearly  to 
my  shoulder  and  leaned  heavily  against  me,  his 
head  resting  against  my  arm  in  a  most  sentimen- 
tal attitude. 

At  last  finding  that  I  would  not  be  coaxed  or 
forced  into  devoting  myself  wholly  to  his  enter- 
tainment, he  rose  with  dignity,  and  walked  off 
in  the  direction  his  mistress  had  gone,  paying 
no  more  attention  to  my  commands  or  my  coax- 
ings than  if  I  did  not  exist.  If  I  would  not  do 
what  he  wished,  and  pay  the  price  of  his  society, 
he  would  not  do  what  I  asked.  I  was,  there- 
fore, left  alone. 

I  was  perfectly  quiet.  My  dress  was  a  dull 
woods  tint,  carefully  selected  to  be  inconspicu- 
ous, and  I  was  motionless.  No  little  dame  ap- 
peared, but  I  soon  became  aware  of  the  pleasing 
sound  of  the  blue  himself.  It  drew  nearer,  and 
suddenly  ceased.  Cautiously,  without  moving, 
I  looked  up.  My  eyes  fell  upon  the  little 
beauty  peering  down  upon  me.  I  scarcely 
breathed  while  he  came  nearer,  at  last  directly 
over  my  head,  silent,  and  plainly  studying  me. 
I  shall  always  think  his  conclusion  was  unfavor- 
able, that  he  decided  I  was  dangerous;  and  I, 
who  never  lay  a  finger  on  an  egg  or  a  nest  in 
use,  had  to  suffer  for  the  depredations  of  the 
race  to  which  I  belong.  The  pretty  nest  so 
doted  upon  by  its  little  builder  was  never  occu- 


BABIES  SPEAK  FOE  THEMSELVES.      169 

pied,  and  the  winsome  song  of  the  warbler  came 
from  another  part  of  the  wood. 

We  found  him,  indeed,  so  often  near  this 
particular  place,  a  worse  tangle,  if  possible,  than 
the  other,  that  we  suspected  they  had  set  up  their 
household  gods  here.  Many  times  did  my  friend 
and  her  dog  work  their  way  through  it,  while  I 
waited  outside,  and  considered  the  admirable 
tactics  of  the  wary  warbler.  The  search  was 
without  result. 

Weeks  passed,  but  though  other  birds  inter- 
ested us,  and  filled  our  days  with  pleasure,  my 
comrade  never  ceased  longing  to  find  the  elusive 
nest  of  that  blue  warbler,  and  our  revenge  came 
at  last.  Nests  may  be  deserted,  little  brown 
spouses  may  be  hidden  under  green  leaves,  home- 
steads may  be  so  cunningly  placed  that  one  can- 
not find  them,  but  baby  birds  cannot  be  con- 
cealed. They  will  speak  for  themselves;  they 
will  get  out  of  the  nest  before  they  can  fly ;  they 
will  scramble  about,  careless  of  being  seen ;  and 
such  is  the  devotion  of  parents  that  they  must 
and  will  follow  all  these  vagaries,  and  thus  give 
their  precious  secret  to  whoever  has  eyes  to  see. 

One  day  I  came  alone  into  the  woods,  and  as 
I  reached  a  certain  place,  sauntering  along  in 
perfect  silence,  I  evidently  surprised  somebody, 
for  I  was  saluted  by  low  "smacks  "and  I  caught 
glimpses  of  two  birds  who  dived  into  the  jewel- 


170  THE  WILES  OF  A   WAEBLER. 

weed  and  disappeared.  A  moment  later  I  saw 
the  blue  take  flight  a  little  farther  off,  and  soon 
his  song  burst  out,  calm  and  sweet  as  though  he 
had  never  been  surprised  in  his  life. 

I  walked  slowly  on  up  the  road,  for  this  was 
one  of  the  most  enchanting  spots  in  the  woods, 
to  birds  as  well  as  to  bird-lovers.  Here  the 
cuckoo  hid  her  brood  till  they  could  fly.  In 
this  retired  corner  the  tawny  thrush  built  her 
nest,  and  the  hermit  filled  its  aisles  with  music, 
while  on  the  trespass  notices  hung  here,  the  yel- 
low-bellied woodpecker  drummed  and  signaled. 
It  was  filled  with  interest  and  with  pleasant 
memories,  and  I  lingered  here  for  some  time. 

Then  as  the  road  led  me  still  farther  away,  I 
turned  back.  Coming  quietly,  again  I  sur- 
prised the  blue  family  and  was  greeted  in  the 
same  manner  as  before.  They  had  slipped  back 
in  silence  during  my  absence,  and  the  young 
blues  were,  doubtless,  at  that  moment  running 
about  under  the  weeds. 

Thus  we  found  our  warbler,  the  head  of  a 
family,  hard  at  work  as  any  sparrow,  feeding 
a  beloved,  but  somewhat  scraggy  looking, 
youngster,  the  feeble  likeness  of  himself. 
There,  too,  we  found  the  little  brown  mamma, 
the  same,  as  we  suppose,  whose  nest-building 
we  had  watched  with  so  much  interest.  She 
also  had  a  youngster  under  her  charge.  But 


FAVORITISM  IN    THE  FAMILY.          171 

how  was  this !  a  brown  baby  clad  like  herself  ! 
Could  it  be  that  the  sons  and  daughters  of  this 
warbler  family  outrage  all  precedent  by  wearing 
their  grown-up  dress  in  the  cradle?  We  con- 
sulted- the  authorities  and  found  our  conclusion 
was  correct. 

Henceforth  we  watched  with  greater  interest 
than  before.  Every  day  that  we  came  into  the 
woods  we  saw  the  little  party  of  four,  always 
near  together,  scrambling  about,  under  the  sap- 
lings or  among  the  jewel- weed,  or  running  over 
the  tangled  branches  of  a  fallen  tree,  the  two 
younger  calling  in  sharp  little  voices  for  food, 
and  the  elders  bustling  about  on  low  trees  to 
find  it. 

We  soon  noticed  that  there  was  favoritism  in 
the  family.  Papa  fed  only  the  little  man,  while 
mamma  fed  the  little  maid,  though  she  too 
sometimes  stuffed  a  morsel  into  the  mouth  of 
her  son.  Let  us  hope  that  by  this  arrangement 
both  babies  are  equally  fed,  and  not,  as  is  often 
the  case,  the  most  greedy  secures  the  greatest 
amount. 

We  had  now  reached  the  last  of  July,  and  the 
woods  were  full  of  new  voices,  not  alone  the 
peeps  or  chirps  of  birdlings  impatient  for  food. 
There  were  baffling  rustles  of  leaves  in  the  tree- 
tops,  rebounds  of  twigs  as  some  small  form  left 
them,  flits  of  strange-colored  wings,  —  migration 


172  THE  WILES  OF  A  WARBLER. 

had  begun.  Now,  if  the  bird-student  wishes 
not  to  go  mad  with  problems  she  cannot  solve, 
she  will  be  wise  to  fold  her  camp-stool  and  re- 
turn to  the  haunts  of  the  squawking  English 
sparrow  and  the  tireless  canary,  the  loud-voiced 
parrot,  and  the  sleep-destroying  mocking-bird. 
I  did. 


XVIII. 

A   RAINY-DAY   TRAMP. 

BEFORE  I  opened  my  eyes  in  the  morning  I 
knew  something  had  happened,  for  I  missed  the 
usual  charm  of  dawn.  A  robin,  to  be  sure, 
made  an  effort  to  lead,  as  was  his  custom,  and 
sang  out  bravely  once  or  twice ;  a  song  sparrow, 
too,  flitted  into  the  evergreen  beside  my  window, 
and  uttered  his  sweet  and  cheery  little  greeting 
to  whom  it  might  concern.  But  those  were  the 
only  ones  out  of  the  fourteen  voices  we  were 
accustomed  to  hear  in  the  morning. 

When  I  came  out  on  the  veranda  not  a  note 
was  to  be  heard  and  not  a  bird  to  be  seen  ex- 
cepting a  woodpecker,  who  bounded  gayly  up 
the  trunk  of  a  maple,  as  if  sunshine  were  not 
essential  to  happiness,  and  a  chipping-sparrow, 
who  went  about  through  the  dripping  grass 
with  perfect  indifference  to  weather,  squabbling 
with  his  fellow-chippies,  and  picking  up  his 
breakfast  as  usual. 

I  seated  myself  in  the  foig  rocker,  and  turned 
toward  the  woods,  a  few  rods  away.  The  rain, 
which  had  fallen  heavily  for  hours,  light  and 


174  A  RAINY-DAY  TRAMP. 

fine  now,  drew  a  shimmering  veil  before  the 
trees,  —  a  veil  like  a  Japanese  bead-hanging, 
which  hides  nothing,  only  the  rain  veil  was  more 
diaphanous  than  anything  fashioned  by  human 
hands.  It  did  not  conceal,  but  enhanced  the 
charm  of  everything  behind  it,  lending  a  glamour 
that  turned  the  woods  into  enchanted  land. 

Before  the  house  how  the  prospect  was 
changed !  The  hills  and  Adirondack  woods  in 
the  distance  were  cut  sharply  off,  and  our  little 
world  stood  alone,  closed  in  by  heavy  walls  of 
mist. 

My  glass  transported  me  to  the  edge  of  the 
side  lawn,  where  I  looked  far  under  the  trees,  and 
rejoiced  in  the  joy  of  the  woods  in  rain.  The 
trees  were  still,  as  if  in  ecstasy  "too  deep  for 
smiling;"  the  ferns  gently  waved  and  nodded. 
Every  tiny  leaf  that  had  thrust  its  head  up 
through  the  mould,  ambitious  to  be  an  ash  or  a 
maple  or  a  fern,  straightened  itself  with  fullness 
of  fresh  life.  The  woods  were  never  so  fasci- 
nating, nor  showed  so  plainly 

"  The  immortal  gladness  of  inanimate  things." 

A  summer  shower  the  birds,  and  we,  have 
reason  to  expect,  and  even  to  enjoy,  but  a  down- 
pour of  several  hours,  *&  storm  that  lays  the  deep 
grass  flat,  beats  down  branches,  and  turns  every 
hollow  into  a  lake,  was  more  than  they  had  pro- 


BIRDS  IN  THE  RAIN.  175 

vided  for,  I  fear.  My  heart  went  out  to  the 
dozens  of  bobolink  and  song  -  sparrow  babies 
buried  under  the  matted  grass,  the  little  tawny 
thrushes  wandering  around  cold  and  comfortless 
on  the  soaked  ground  in  the  woods,  the  warbler 
infants,  —  redstart  and  chestnut-sided  —  that  I 
knew  were  sitting  humped  up  and  miserable  in 
some  watery  place  under  the  berry  bushes,  the 
young  tanager  only  just  out  of  the  nest,  and  the 
two  cuckoo  babies,  thrust  out  of  their  home  at 
the  untimely  age  of  seven  days,  to  shiver  around 
on  their  weak  blue  legs. 

My  only  comfort  was  in  thinking  of  wood- 
pecker little  folk,  the  yellow-bellied  family  whose 
loud  and  insistent  baby  cries  we  had  listened  to 
for  days,  the  downy  and  hairy,  and  the  golden- 
wing.  They  were  all  warm  and  snug,  if  they 
could  only  be  persuaded  to  stay  at  home.  But 
from  what  I  have  seen  of  young  birds,  when 
their  hour  strikes  they  go,  be  it  fair  or  foul.  To 
take  the  bitter  with  the  sweet  is  their  fate,  and 
no  rain,  however  driving,  no  wind,  however 
rough,  can  detain  them  an  hour  when  they  feel 
the  call  of  the  inner  voice  which  bids  them  go. 
I  have  seen  many  birdlings  start  out  in  weather 
that  from  our  point  of  view  should  make  the 
feathered  folk,  old  or  young,  hug  the  nest  or  any 
shelter  they  can  find. 

In  the  afternoon  the  rain  had  ceased,  and  we 


176  A  EAINY-DAY  TEAMP. 

went  out.  How  beautiful  we  found  the  woods ! 
More  than  ever  I  despair  of 

"  Putting  my  woods  in  song." 

Every  fresh  condition  of  light  brings  out  new 
features.  They  are  not  the  same  in  the  morn- 
ing and  the  afternoon;  sunshine  makes  them 
very  different  from  a  gray  sky ;  and  heavy  rain, 
which  hangs  still  in  drops  from  every  leaf  and 
twig,  changes  them  still  more. 

This  time  the  tree-trunks  were  the  most  no- 
ticeable feature.  Thoreau  speaks  of  rain  wak- 
ing the  lichens  into  life,  and  we  saw  this  as  never 
before.  Not  only  does  it  bring  out  the  colors 
and  give  a  brightness  and  richness  they  show  at 
no  other  time,  but  it  raises  the  leaves  —  if  one 
may  so  call  them  —  makes  them  stand  out  fresh. 
The  beeches  were  marvelous  with  many  shades 
of  green,  and  of  pink,  from  a  delicate  blush  over 
the  whole  tree,  to  bright  vermilion  in  small 
patches.  The  birches,  "most  shy  and  ladylike 
of  trees,"  were  intensely  yellow;  some  lovely 
with  dabs  of  green,  while  others  looked  like  rug- 
ged old  heroes  of  many  battles,  with  great  patches 
of  black,  and  ragged  ends  of  loosened  bark  frin- 
ging them  like  an  Indian's  war  dress,  up  to  the 
branches.  Every  hollow  under  the  trees  had 
become  a  clear  pond  to  reflect  these  beauties, 
and  lively  little  brooks  rippled  across  the  path, 


THE  OVEN-BIRD'S  LOVE  SONG.         177 

adding  to  the  woods  the  only  thing  they  lacked, 
—  running  water. 

Instinctively  our  feet  turned  up  the  path  to 
the  oven-bird's  nest,  so  narrow  that  we  brushed 
a  shower  from  every  bush.  There  he  was, 
singing  at  that  moment.  "Teacher  !  teacher! 
teacher!"  he  called,  with  head  thrown  up  and 
wing-s  drooped.  And  then  while  we  looked  he 
left  his  perch,  and  passed  up  between  the 
branches  out  of  our  sight,  his  sweet  ecstatic 
love -song  floating  down  to  delight  our  souls. 

Surely,  we  thought,  all  must  be  well  in  the 
cabin  among  the  dead  leaves,  or  he  could  not 
sing  so.  Yet  life  had  not  been  all  rose -colored 
to  the  little  dame  whom  we  had  surprised  several 
days  before,  bringing  great  pieces  of  what  ap- 
peared to  be  lace,  to  line  the  nest  she  had  made 
so  wonderfully.  We  had  watched  her,  breath- 
less, for  a  long  time,  while  she  went  back  and 
forth  carrying  in  old  leaves,  softened,  bleached, 
and  turned  to  lace  by  long  exposure,  arranged 
each  one  carefully  and  moulded  it  to  place  by 
pressing  her  breast  against  it,  and  turning  rotn  1 
and  round  in  the  nest.  Curious  enough  she 
looked  as  she  alighted  at  some  distance,  and 
walked  —  not  hopped  —  to  her  little  "oven," 
holding  the  almost  skeletonized  leaf  before  her 
like  an  apron,  so  busy  that  she  did  not  observe 
that  she  had  visitors. 


178  A  RAINY-DAY  TRAMP. 

Then  came  a  day  when,  on  reaching  our  usual 
place,  we  found  that  an  accident  had  happened. 
The  dainty  roof  was  crushed  in,  and  the  poor 
little  egg,  for  which  such  loving  preparations 
had  been  made,  lay  pathetically  on  the  ground 
outside  the  door.  My  comrade  crept  carefully 
up,  raised  the  tiny  roof  to  place,  and  with  deft 
fingers  put  a  twig  under  as  a  prop  to  hold  it, 
then  gently  laid  the  pretty  egg  in  the  lace-lined 
nest. 

The  next  day  we  hurried  out  to  see  if  the  bird 
had  resented  our  clumsy  human  help.  But  no ; 
like  the  wise  little  creature  she  was,  she  had  ac- 
cepted the  goods  the  gods  had  provided,  and 
laid  a  second  pearl  beside  the  first.  On  our 
next  visit,  therefore  —  especially  when  we  heard 
the  gleeful  song  of  her  (supposed)  mate  —  we 
came  up  with  confidence  to  see  our  little  oven- 
bird  homestead.  But,  alas!  somebody  not  so 
loving  as  we  had  been  there;  the  two  pretty 
eggs  were  gone,  not  a  sign  of  them  to  be  seen, 
and  the  nest  was  deserted.  Yet  we  could  not 
give  up  a  hope  that  she  would  return,  and  day 
after  day  our  steps  turned  of  themselves  to  the 
oven-bird's  nook.  This  rainy  day,  as  a  dozen 
times  before,  we  found  the  little  house  still 
empty,  and  as  before  we  turned  sadly  away, 
when  suddenly  a  new  sound  broke  the  stillness. 
"  Wuk !  wuk !  wuk !  wa-a-a-ah !  wa-a-a-ah !  "  it 


THE  SQUIRREL'S  JOKE.  179 

cried.  It  was  the  exact  tone  of  a  young  baby, 
a  naive  and  innocent  cry.  What  could  it  be? 
Was  some  tramp  mother  hidden  behind  the 
bushes?  Was  it  a  new  bird  with  this  unbird- 
like  cry?  I  was  startled.  But  my  friend  was 
smiling  at  my  dismay.  She  pointed  to  the  crotch 
of  a  tree,  and  there  a  saucy  gray  squirrel  lay 
sprawled  out  flat,  uttering  his  sentiments  in  this 
abominable  parody  on  the  human  baby  cry.  I 
believe  the  first  squirrel  learned  it  from  some 
deserted  infant,  and  handed  it  down  as  a  choice 
joke  upon  us  all.  At  any  rate  this  performer 
was  not  suffering  as  his  tones  would  indicate ; 
for  seeing  that  he  had  an  audience  more  inter- 
ested than  he  desired,  he  pulled  himself  together, 
whisked  his  bushy  tail  in  our  faces,  and  disap- 
peared behind  the  trunk,  from  whence,  in  one 
instant,  his  head  was  thrust  on  one  side  and  his 
tail  on  the  other.  And  so  he  remained  as  long 
as  we  were  in  sight. 

This  absurd  episode  changed  our  mood,  and 
soon  we  tramped  gayly  back  over  the  soft  leaf- 
covered  paths,  fording  the  newly  formed  brooks, 
shaking  showers  upon  ourselves  from  the  sap- 
lings, and  arriving  at  last,  dripping  but  happy, 
on  the  veranda,  where,  after  donning  drier  cos- 
tumes, we  spent  the  rest  of  the  day  watching 
the  birds  that  came  to  the  trees  on  the  lawn. 


XIX. 

THE  VAGARIES   OF  A   WARBLER. 

THE  bird  lover  who  carries  a  glass  but  never 
a  gun,  who  observes  but  never  shoots,  sees  many 
queer  things  not  set  down  in  the  books;  freaks 
and  notions  and  curious  fancies  on  the  part 
of  the  feathered  folk,  which  reveal  an  individ- 
uality of  character  as  marked  in  a  three -inch 
warbler  as  in  a  six-foot  man.  Some  of  the 
idiosyncrasies  of  our  "little  brothers"  may  be 
understood  and  explained  from  the  human  stand- 
point, others  are  as  baffling  as  "the  lady,  or  the 
tiger?  " 

One  lovely  and  lazy  day  last  July  —  the  fourth 
it  was  —  a  perfect  day  with  not  a  cannon  nor 
even  a  cracker  to  disturb  its  peace,  my  comrade 
and  I  turned  our  steps  toward  the  woods,  as  we 
had  for  the  thirty-and-three  mornings  preced- 
ing that  one. 

This  morning,  however,  was  distinguished  by 
the  fact  that  we  had  a  special  object.  In  gen- 
eral, our  passage  through  the  woods  was  an  open- 
eyed  (and  open-minded)  loitering  walk,  alter- 
nated with  periods  of  rest  on  our  camp-stools, 


A  MADDENING  PURSUIT.  181 

wherever  we  found  anything  of  interest  to  de- 
tain us. 

On  this  Fourth  of  July  we  were  in  search  of 
a  warbler,  —  one  of  the  most  tantalizing,  mad- 
dening pursuits  a  sensible  human  being  can  en- 
gage in.  Fancy  the  difficulty  of  dragging  one's 
self,  not  to  mention  the  flying  gown,  camp-stool, 
opera-glass,  note-book  and  other  impedimenta 
through  brush  and  brier,  over  logs,  under  fallen 
trees,  in  the  swamp  and  through  the  tangle,  to 
follow  the  eccentric  movements  of  a  scrap  of  a 
bird  the  size  of  one's  finger,  who  proceeds  by 
wings  and  not  by  feet,  who  goes  over  and  not 
through  all  this  growth. 

The  corner  to  which  we  had  traced  our  "black- 
throated  blue,"  and  where  we  suspected  he  had 
a  nest,  presented  a  little  worse  than  the  usual 
snarl  of  saplings  and  fallen  branches  and  other 
hindrances,  and  the  morning  was  warm.  My 
heart  failed  me ;  and  as  my  leader  turned  from 
the  path  I  deserted.  "You  go  in,  if  you  like," 
I  said;  "I  '11  wait  for  you  here." 

I  seated  myself,  and  she  went  on.  For  a  few 
minutes  I  heard  the  cracking  of  twigs,  the  rustle 
of  her  movements  against  the  bushes,  the  heavy 
tread  of  her  big  dog,  and  then  all  was  silent. 

It  was  —  did  I  say  it  was  a  fair  morning?  — 
not  a  breath  of  air  was  stirring.  My  seat  was 
in  a  rather  open  spot  at  the  foot  of  a  big  butter- 


182        THE  VAGARIES  OF  A  WAEBLEE. 

nut  tree;  and  I  could  look  far  up  where  its 
branches  spread  out  wide  and  held  their  grace- 
ful leafy  stars  against  the  blue. 

In  the  woods  I  am  never  lonely;  but  I  was 
not  this  morning  alone.  Near  by  a  vireo  kept 
up  his  tireless  song ;  a  gray  squirrel  peeped  cu- 
riously at  me  from  behind  a  trunk,  his  head 
showing  on  one  side  and  his  tail  on  the  other; 
an  oven-bird  stole  up  behind  to  see  what  man- 
ner of  creature  this  was,  and  far  off  I  could 
hear  the  tanager  singing. 

I  did  not  notice  the  time ;  but  after  a  while  I 
became  conscious  of  a  low  whistle  which  seemed 
to  mingle  with  my  reveries,  and  might  have 
been  going  on  for  some  minutes.  Suddenly  it 
struck  me  that  it  was  the  call  of  my  fellow-stu- 
dent, and  I  started  up  the  road  wondering  lazily 
if  she  had  found  the  nest,  and,  to  tell  the  truth, 
not  caring  much  whether  she  had  or  not.  For, 
to  tell  the  whole  truth,  I  had  long  ago  steeled  my 
heart  against  the  fascinations  of  those  bewitch- 
ing little  sprites  who  never  stay  two  seconds  in 
one  spot,  and  sternly  resolved  never,  never  to 
get  interested  in  a  warbler. 

My  companion,  however,  was  not  so  philo- 
sophical or  so  cool.  She  never  could  withstand 
the  flit  of  a  warbler  wing;  she  would  follow  for 
half  a  day  the  absurd  but  enchanting  little  trill ; 
and  she  regularly  went  mad  (so  to  speak)  at 


SHE  HAD  FOUND  SOMETHING.          183 

every  migration,  over  the  hundred  or  two,  more 
or  less,  varieties  that  made  this  wood  a  resting- 
place  on  their  way.  Now,  I  could  resist  the 
birds  by  never  looking  at  them,  but  I  could  not 
resist  my  friend's  enthusiasm;  so  when  she 
started  on  a  warbler  trail,  I  generally  followed, 
as  a  matter  of  course.  And  I  admit  that  the 
blue,  to  which  we  shortened  his  name,  was  a 
beauty  and  a  charming  singer. 

I  passed  quietly  up  the  road  toward  the  con- 
tinued low  calls,  and  soon  saw  the  student,  not 
far  from  the  path,  in  a  clearer  spot  than  usual, 
sitting  against  a  maple  sapling,  with  her  four- 
footed  protector  at  her  feet.  When  I  came  in 
sight  she  beckoned  eagerly  but  silently,  and  I 
knew  she  had  found  something;  probably  the 
nest,  I  thought.  As  quietly  as  might  be  under 
the  circumstances  (namely,  a  passage  through 
dead  leaves,  brittle  twigs,  unexpected  hollows, 
etc.),  I  crept  to  her  side,  planted  my  camp-stool 
near  hers,  and  sat  down,  in  obedience  to  her 
imperious  gesture. 

"Now  look,"  she  whispered,  pointing  to  a 
nest  in  plain  sight. 

"Why  that's  the  redstart  nest  we  saw  yes- 
terday from  the  road,"  I  answered  in  the  same 
tone,  somewhat  disappointed,  it  must  be  said, 
for  redstart  nests  were  on  about  every  third  sap- 
ling in  the  woods. 


184   THE  VAGAEIES  OF  A  WARBLER. 

"Yes;  but  see  what 's  going  on,"  she  added, 
excitedly. 

"I  see,"  I  replied;  "there  is  a  young  bird  on 
the  edge  of  the  nest  and  its  mother  is  feeding 
it;  "  and  I  was  about  to  lower  my  glass  and  ask 
what  there  was  surprising  about  that,  when  she 
went  on :  — 

"  Keep  looking  !     There  !     Who  's  that  ?  " 

"Why  that 's  —  why  —  that  ?s  a  chestnut- 
sided  warbler  !  and  —  what  ?  —  he  feeds  the 
same  baby !  "  I  gasped,  interested  now  as  much 
as  she. 

"There  !"  she  exclaimed,  triumphantly,  "I 
wanted  you  to  see  that  with  your  own  eyes,  since 
you  scorn  to  look  at  the  warblers.  He  has  been 
doing  that  ever  since  I  left  you.  I  could  n't 
bear  to  let  him  out  of  my  sight  !" 

At  that  moment  the  warbler  appeared  again, 
and  the  wise  redstart  baby,  who  at  least  knew 
enough  to  take  a  good  thing  when  it  offered, 
opened  his  ever-ready  mouth  for  the  bit  of  a 
worm  he  brought. 

But  lo !  Madam,  who  had  flown  the  moment 
before,  returned  in  hot  haste,  and  flung  herself 
upon  that  small  philanthropist  as  if  he  had 
brought  poison ;  he  vanished. 

Here  was  indeed  a  queer  complication!  It 
was  a  redstart  nest  without  doubt,  but  who 
owned  the  baby?  If  he  were  a  redstart,  why 


WHO  OWNED  THE  BABY?  185 

did  Mamma  refuse  help  in  her  hard  work,  and 
why  did  the  chestnut-sided  insist  on  helping? 
If  he  were  a  chestnut-sided  infant,  how  did  he 
come  in  a  redstart  nest,  and  what  had  the  red- 
start to  do  with  him? 

These  were  the  problems  with  which  we  had 
to  grapple,  and  we  settled  ourselves  to  the  work. 
We  placed  our  seats  against  neighboring  sap- 
lings, for  backs,  and  we  first  critically  examined 
that  nest.  It  was  surely  a  redstart's,  though  at 
an  unusual  height,  perhaps  twenty -five  feet,  as 
we  had  observed  the  day  before  when  we  had 
both  noted  in  our  books  that  we  saw  the  male 
feeding  the  young.  Even  had  the  nest  not  been 
so  plainly  a  redstart's,  the  air  of  that  mother 
was  unmistakable.  She  owned  that  nest  and 
that  baby,  there  could  not  be  a  doubt,  and  the 
dapper  little  personage  with  chestnut  sides  was 
an  interloper. 

Nearly  two  hours  we  watched  every  movement 
of  the  small  actors  in  this  strange  drama,  and 
in  seeking  food  they  often  came  within  six  feet 
of  us  on  our  own  level,  so  that  we  could  not 
mistake  their  identity. 

The  poor  little  mamma  was  in  deep  distress. 
Although  her  mate  was  absent,  she  resented  her 
neighbor's  efforts  to  help  in  her  work,  and 
dashed  at  him  furiously  every  time  she  saw  him 
come.  Yet  she  could  not  stay  on  guard,  for 


186         THE  VAGARIES  OF  A  WARBLER. 

upon  her  alone  devolved  the  duty  of  feeding  that 
nestling.  So  she  rushed  frantically  hither  and 
thither  in  mad  redstart  fashion,  brought  her 
morsel  and  administered  it,  and  then  darted  an- 
grily after  the  enemy,  who  appeared  as  often  as 
she  did,  every  time  with  a  tidbit  for  that  pam- 
pered youngster. 

This  double  duty  seemed  almost  too  much  for 
the  redstart.  Her  feathers  were  ruffled,  her  tail 
opened  and  shut  nervously,  and  at  every  inter- 
val that  she  could  spare  from  her  breathless 
exertions  she  uttered  in  low  tones  the  redstart 
song,  as  though  calling  on  that  missing  lord  of 
hers. 

And  where  was  that  much  needed  personage  ? 
Had  he  been  killed  in  these  carefully  protected 
and  fenced  woods,  where  no  guns  or  collectors 
were  allowed,  and  trespass  notices  were  as  plen- 
tiful as  blackberries  ?  Not  by  shooting  we  were 
sure;  we  should  have  heard  a  gun  at  the  house. 
Had,  then,  an  owl  paid  a  twilight  visit,  and 
could  a  redstart  be  surprised?  Or  could,  per- 
chance, a  squirrel  have  stolen  upon  him  unaware  ? 
We  shall  never  know.  There 's  no  morning 
paper  to  chronicle  the  tragedies  in  the  bird 
world;  and  it  would  be  too  pitiful  reading  if 
there  were. 

The  most  curious  thing  about  the  whole  per- 
formance was  the  behavior  of  the  chestnut-sided. 


DOMESTIC  INFELICITY.  187 

His  manner  was  as  unruffled  as  Madam's  was 
excited.  The  most  just  and  honorable  cause  in 
the  world  could  not  give  more  absolute  self-pos- 
session, more  dignified  persistence,  than  was 
shown  by  this  wonderful  atom  of  a  bird.  He 
acknowledged  her  right  to  reprove  him,  for  he 
vanished  before  her  outraged  motherhood  every 
time;  but  the  moment  the  chase  ended  he  fell 
to  collecting  food,  and  by  the  time  his  assailant 
had  given  her  bantling  a  morsel,  he  was  ready 
with  another. 

What  could  be  his  motive?  Was  he  a  char- 
ity-mad personage,  such  as  we  sometimes  see 
among  bigger  folk,  determined  to  benefit  his 
kind,  whether  they  would  or  no  ?  Had  he,  per- 
chance, been  bereaved  of  his  own  younglings, 
and  felt  moved  to  bestow  his  parental  care  upon 
somebody?  Did  he  wish  to  experiment  with 
some  theory  of  his  own  on  another's  baby? 
Was  it  his  aim  to  coax  that  young  redstart  to 
desert  his  family  and  follow  after  the  traditions 
of  the  chestnut-sided? 

Alas!  how  easy  to  ask;  how  hard  to  answer! 

By  this  time  I  had  become  as  absorbed  in  the 
drama  as  my  companion.  We  forgot,  or  post- 
poned, the  blue,  and  gave  the  day  to  study  of 
this  case  of  domestic  infelicity.  Five  long  hours 
we  sat  there  (morning  and  afternoon)  before  the 
stage  on  which  the  interesting  but  agitating 


188   THE  VAGAEIES  OF  A  WAEBLEE. 

play  went  on;  and  after  tea,  just  before  dark^ 
we  came  out  again.  All  this  time  the  war  be- 
tween the  two  still  raged,  with  no  abatement  of 
spirit. 

Breakfast  was  not  loitered  over  on  the  follow- 
ing morning,  and  we  hurried  out  to  our  post. 
The  situation  was  changed  a  little.  The  young- 
ster had  made  up  his  mind  to  go  out  into  the 
world.  He  had  moved  as  far  as  the  branch,  a 
few  inches  from  the  nest,  and  was  still  fed  on 
both  sides  by  his  zealous  providers.  Mamma, 
however,  though  every  time  repelling  her  unwel- 
come assistant,  was  not  so  nervous.  Perhaps  she 
realized  that  a  few  hours  more  would  end  the 
trouble.  She  fed,  she  encouraged,  and  pretty 
soon,  while  we  looked,  the  infant  flew  to  the 
nearest  tree. 

Now  the  chestnut-sided  began  to  have  diffi- 
culty in  following  up  his  self-imposed  charge. 
He  took  to  coming  close  upon  the  mother's  heels 
to  see  where  she  went.  But  this  course  was  at- 
tended with  the  difficulty  that  the  instant  she 
had  fed  she  was  ready  to  turn  upon  him,  which 
she  never  failed  to  do. 

After  several  short  flights  about  the  tree,  the 
young  bird,  grown  bolder,  perhaps  by  over-feed- 
ing, for  surely  never  nestling  was  stuffed  as  that 
one  was,  attempted  a  more  ambitious  flight, 
failed,  and  came  fluttering  to  the  ground,  much 


THE  BIRD  IN  THE  HAND.  189 

to  the  dismay  of  his  mamma,  who  followed  him 
closely  all  the  way. 

This  was  our  opportunity,  the  moment  we 
had  waited  for ;  we  must  see  that  disputed  baby ! 

My  comrade  dropped  everything  and  ran  to 
the  spot.  A  moment's  scrambling  about  on  the 
ground,  a  few  careful  "grabs"  among  the  dead 
leaves,  and  she  held  the  exhausted  little  fellow 
in  her  hand.  He  was  not  frightened ;  but  his 
mother  was  greatly  disturbed  at  first.  We  were 
too  interested  in  this  case  to  heed  her,  and  in- 
deed after  a  moment's  demonstration  she  flew 
away  and  left  him  in  our  hands. 

We  examined  him  minutely,  and  I  noted  his 
markings  on  the  spot.  There  was  no  doubt 
about  his  being  a  redstart  baby,  as  I  had  been 
convinced  from  the  first.  When  we  had  settled 
this,  the  little  one  was  placed  on  a  branch,  where 
he  remained  quite  calmly,  and  we  left  him  to 
his  two  attendants. 

The  next  morning  we  found  the  mother  still 
hard  at  work  in  the  same  part  of  the  woods  (we 
knew  her  by  some  feathers  she  had  lost  from  her 
breast),  but  the  gallant  little  warbler  was  no- 
where to  be  seen. 


XX. 

A   CLEVER   CUCKOO. 

"  Hark,  the  cuckoo,  weatherwise, 
Still  hiding,  farther  onward  woos  you." 

THE  mysterious  bird,  around  whose  name 
cluster  some  strange  facts  as  well  as  absurd  fan- 
cies; shy  and  intolerant  of  the  human  race,  yet 
bold  in  protecting  his  treasures;  devoted  and 
tender  in  his  family  relations,  yet  often  known 
in  the  neighborhood  where  he  passes  his  days  as 
a  mere  "wandering  voice,"  — 

"  No  bird,  but  an  invisible  thing, 
A  voice,  a  mystery,"  — 

this  bird,  the  cuckoo,  was  a  stranger  to  me  till 
one  happy  day  last  June,  when  I  came  upon  him 
where  he  could  not  escape,  beside  his  own  nest. 
In  returning  from  our  daily  visit  to  the  woods 
that  morning,  my  fellow -student  turned  down  a 
narrow  footway  connecting  the  woods  with  the 
home-fields,  and  I  followed.  She  had  passed 
through  half  its  length,  her  dog  close  behind 
her,  when  our  eyes,  ever  searching  the  trees  and 
bushes,  fell  almost  at  the  same  instant  upon  a 


THE  CUCKOO'S  NEST.  191 

nest,  with  the  sitting  bird  at  home.  It  was  so 
near  me  that  I  could  have  touched  it,  being  not 
more  than  two  feet  from  the  ground,  and  hardly 
farther  from  the  path. 

Fearing  to  startle  the  little  mother,  whose 
frightened  eyes  were  fixed  upon  us,  we  an- 
nounced our  mutual  discovery  by  a  single  move- 
ment of  the  hand,  and  walked  quietly  past  with- 
out pausing.  Not  until  we  reached  the  open 
fields  at  the  end  did  my  comrade  whisper,  "a 
cuckoo,"  and  our  hearts,  if  not  our  lips,  sang 
with  Wordsworth,  "Thrice  welcome,  darling  of 
the  spring,"  for  the  nest  of  this  shy  bird  we 
hardly  dared  hope  to  see. 

After  the  morning  of  our  happy  discovery  the 
cuckoo  path  became  part  of  our  regular  route 
home  from  the  woods.  Our  first  care  was  to 
dispel  the  fears  of  the  bird,  and  accustom  her  to 
seeing  us,  so  for  several  days  we  passed  her  with- 
out pausing,  though  we  looked  at  her  and  spoke 
to  her  in  low  tones  as  we  went  by. 

Three  times  she  flew  at  sight  of  us,  but  on  the 
fourth  morning  she  remained,  though  with  tail 
straight  up  and  ready  for  instant  flight.  But 
finding  that  we  did  not  disturb  her,  she  calmed 
down,  and  became  so  fearless  that  she  did  not 
move  nor  appear  agitated  when  at  last  we  did 
stop  before  her  door,  spoke  to  her,  and  identified 
her  as  the  black -billed  cuckoo. 


192  A  CLEVER  CUCKOO. 

On  the  eighth  day  of  our  visits  it  happened 
that  I  went  to  the  woods  alone.  I  found  the 
bird  at  home,  as  usual,  and  armed  with  an 
opera-glass,  I  placed  myself  at  some  distance 
to  watch  her.  Half  an  hour  passed  before  she 
stirred  a  feather,  but  I  was  not  lonely.  A 
mourning-warbler  came  about,  eating  and  sing- 
ing alternately,  after  the  manner  of  his  kind, 
and  the  pretty  trill  of  the  black-throated  green 
warbler  came  out  of  the  woods.  Then  a  crow 
mamma  created  a  diversion  by  helping  herself  to 
an  egg  for  her  baby's  breakfast,  when  a  robin 
and  a  vireo  —  curious  pair !  —  took  after  her 
with  loud  cries  of  indignation  and  reproach. 

When  this  excitement  was  over,  the  trio  had 
disappeared  in  the  woods,  and  silence  had  fallen 
upon  us  again,  I  heard  the  cuckoo  call  at  a  little 
distance,  and  in  a  moment  the  bird  himself 
alighted  on  a  twig  three  feet  above  the  nest. 
He  was  a  beauty,  but  he  appeared  greatly  ex- 
cited. He  threw  up  his  tail  till  it  pointed  to  the 
sky  over  his  head,  then  let  it  slowly  drop  to  the 
horizontal  position.  This  he  did  three  times, 
while  he  looked  down  upon  his  household,  so 
absorbed  that  he  did  not  see  me  at  all. 

Then  the  patient  sitter  vacated  her  post,  and 
he  flew  down  to  the  nest.  The  top  was  hidden 
by  leaves,  so  that  I  cannot  positively  affirm  that 
he  sat  on  the  eggs,  but  it  is  certain  that  he  re- 


A  BLACK-SATIN  MOUTH.  193 

mained  perfectly  silent  and  motionless  there 
for  forty -five  minutes.  Then  I  caught  sight  of 
Madam  returning.  She  came  in  from  the  woods, 
behind  and  at  the  level  of  the  nest;  there  was  a 
moment's  flutter  of  wings,  and  I  saw  that  her 
mate  was  gone,  and  she  in  her  usual  place. 

The  next  day  there  was  a  change  in  the  pro- 
gramme. It  happened  that  I  arrived  when  the 
mother  was  away,  and  the  head  of  the  household 
in  charge.  No  sooner  did  I  appear  on  the  path 
than  he  flew  off  the  nest  with  great  bustle,  thus 
betraying  himself  at  once ;  but  he  did  not  desert 
his  post  of  protector.  He  perched  on  a  branch 
somewhat  higher  than  my  head,  and  five  or  six 
feet  away,  and  began  calling,  a  low  "coo-oo." 
With  every  cry  he  opened  his  mouth  very  wide, 
as  though  to  shriek  at  the  top  of  his  voice,  and 
the  low  cry  that  came  out  was  so  ludicrously  in- 
adequate to  his  apparent  effort  that  it  was  very 
droll.  In  this  performance  he  made  fine  display 
of  the  inside  of  his  mouth  and  throat,  which 
looked,  from  where  I  stood,  like  black  satin. 

The  calls  he  made  while  I  watched  him 
sounded  so  far  off  that  if  Iliad  not  been  within 
six  feet  of  him,  and  seen  him  make  them,  I 
should  never  have  suspected  him :  — 

"  A  cry 

Which  made  me  look  a  thousand  ways, 
In  bush  and  tree  and  sky  " 


194  A  CLEVER   CUCKOO. 

Finding  that  his  voice  did  not  drive  me  away, 
the  bird  resorted  to  another  method;  he  tried 
intimidation.  First  he  threw  himself  into  a 
most  curious  attitude,  humping  his  shoulders 
and  opening  his  tail  like  a  fan,  then  spreading 
his  wings  and  resting  the  upper  end  of  them  on 
his  tail,  which  made  at  the  back  a  sort  of  scoop 
effect.  Every  time  he  uttered  the  cry  he  lifted 
wings  and  tail  together,  and  let  them  fall  slowly 
back  to  their  natural  position.  It  was  the  queer- 
est bird  performance  I  ever  saw. 

During  all  this  excitement  there  sounded  from 
a  little  distance  a  low  single  "coo,"  which,  I 
suppose,  was  the  voice  of  his  mate.  Not  wish- 
ing to  make  a  serious  disturbance  in  the  family, 
and  seeing  that  he  was  not  to  be  conciliated,  I 
walked  slowly  on,  looking  in  the  nest  as  I  passed. 
It  contained  one  egg  that  looked  like  a  robin's, 
and  beside  it  a  small  bundle  of  what  resembled 
black  flesh  stuck  full  of  white  pins.  This,  then, 
was  the  cuckoo  baby;  surely  an  odd  one  ! 

On  the  third  day  after  this  experience  we  were 
fortunate  enough  again  to  find  the  nest  uncov- 
ered. A  second  yoffngster  lay  beside  the  first, 
and  the  two  entirely  filled  the  nest.  They  were 
perhaps  two  and  a  half  inches  long,  and  resem- 
bled, as  said  above,  mere  lumps  of  flesh.  After 
looking  at  the  young  family,  we  seated  ourselves 
a  little  way  off  to  wait  for  some  one  to  come 
home. 


A  SUNNY  CORNER.  195 

• 

The  place  the  cuckoo  had  chosen  to  nest  was 
one  of  the  most  attractive  spots  on  the  grounds, 
an  opening  in  the  woods  in  which,  after  the  loss 
of  the  trees,  had  grown  up  a  thicket  of  wild  ber- 
ries. The  bushes  were  nearly  as  high  as  one's 
head,  and  so  luxuriant  that  they  made  an  im- 
penetrable tangle,  through  which  paths  were  cut 
in  all  directions,  and  kept  open  by  much  work 
each  year. 

In  the  middle  of  the  opening  was  a  clump  of 
larger  saplings,  around  the  foot  of  two  or  three 
very  tall  old  basswood-trees,  part  of  the  origi- 
nal forest.  It  was  the  paradise  of  small  fruits. 
Early  in  the  season  elderberries  ripened,  and 
offered  food  to  whoever  would  come.  Before 
they  were  gone  the  bushes  were  red  with  the 
raspberry,  and  blackberries  were  ready  to  fol- 
low; choke-cherries  completed  the  list,  and 
lasted  till  into  the  fall.  The  insect  enemies  of 
fruit  were  there  in  armies. 

Its  constant  supply  of  food,  its  shelter  from 
the  winds  on  every  side,  and  its  admirable  hid- 
ing-places for  nests,  made  this  warm,  sunny 
corner  the  chosen  home  of  many  birds.  War- 
blers were  there  from  early  spring,  heard, 
though  not  always  seen.  Veeries  nested  on  its 
borders,  woodpeckers  haunted  the  dead  trees  at 
the  edge,  and  all  the  birds  of  the  neighborhood 
paid  visits  to  it. 


196  A  CLEVER  CUCKOO. 

• 
We  had  not  waited  long  when  the  head  of  the 

cuckoo  family  appeared.  He  saw  us  instantly, 
and,  I  regret  to  say,  was  no  more  reconciled  to 
our  presence  than  he  had  been  on  the  previous 
occasion;  but  he  showed  his  displeasure  in  a 
different  way.  He  rushed  about  in  the  trees, 
crying,  "cuck-a-ruck,  cuck-a-ruck,"  running 
out  even  to  the  tip  of  slender  branches  that 
seemed  too  slight  to  bear  his  weight.  When 
his  feelings  entirely  overcame  him  he  flew  away, 
and  though  we  remained  fifteen  minutes,  no  one 
came  to  the  nest. 

The  day  after  this  display  of  unkindly  feeling 
toward  us  we  passed  down  the  cuckoo  path,  saw 
Madam  on  the  nest,  and  at  once  determined  to 
wait  and  see  what  new  demonstration  her  mate 
would  invent  to  express  his  emotions.  My  com- 
rade threw  herself  down  full  length  on  the  dead 
leaves  beside  the  path,  where  she  could  bask  in 
the  sunlight,  while  I  sat  in  the  shade  close  by. 

After  some  time  we  saw  the  cuckoo  stealing 
in  by  a  roundabout  back  way  through  the  low 
growth  in  the  edge  of  the  wood.  He  was  com- 
ing with  supplies,  for  a  worm  dangled  from  his 
beak.  He  had  nearly  reached  the  nest  —  in 
fact  was  not  two  feet  away  —  when  his  eyes  fell 
upon  us.  He  stopped  as  if  paralyzed.  We  re- 
mained motionless,  almost  breathless,  but  he  did 
not  take  his  eyes  off  us,  nor  attempt  to  relieve 


STRUCK  DUMB.  197 

himself  of  that  worm.  Still  we  did  not  move ; 
arms  began  to  ache,  feet  tingled  with  "going  to 
sleep,"  every  joint  stiffened,  and  I  began  to  be 
afraid  I  should  find  myself  turned  to  stone. 
Still  that  bird  never  moved  an  eyelid,  so  far  as 
we  could  see. 

It  was  fully  twenty-five  minutes  that  we  three 
stared  at  each  other,  all  struck  dumb.  But  Na- 
ture asserted  herself  in  us  before  it  did  in  him. 
The  sun  was  hot,  and  the  mosquitoes  far  from 
dumb.  We  yielded  as  gracefully  as  we  could 
under  the  circumstances,  and  left  him  there  as 
motionless  as  a  "mounted  specimen"  in  a  glass 
case. 

The  next  morning  we  started  out  rather  ear- 
lier than  usual,  half  expecting  to  find  Master 
Cuckoo  grown  to  that  perch.  It  appeared,  how- 
ever, that  he  had  torn  himself  away,  for  he  was 
not  to  be  seen.  The  little  mother,  who  was  on 
the  nest,  had  readily  learned  that  we  intended 
no  harm,  but  her  peppery  little  spouse  learned 
nothing;  he  was  just  as  unreconciled  to  us  the 
last  day  as  the  first. 

This  time  he  tried  to  keep  out  of  sight.  First 
we  heard  his  call  far  off,  then  a  low  "cuck-a- 
ruck "  quite  near,  to  which  she  replied  with  a 
gentle  ucoo-oo  "  hardly  above  her  breath. 

It  was  soothing,  but  it  did  not  altogether 
soothe.  He  came  up  from  behind  us  with  an- 


198  A  CLEVER  CUCKOO. 

other  dangling  worm  in  his  mouth,  slipped  si- 
lently through  the  bushes  to  the  nest,  and  in 
a  moment  departed  by  the  back  way  without  a 
word.  Then  we  went  nearer,  looked  once  more 
upon  the  shy  but  brave  little  mother,  and  went 
our  way. 

We  did  not  suspect  it,  but  that  was  our  last 
sight  of  the  cuckoo  family  at  home;  the  next 
day  the  place  was  empty  and  deserted. 

I  was  smitten  with  remorse.  Were  we  the 
cause  of  the  calamity?  Had  the  poor  birds  car- 
ried off  the  babies  ?  Or  had,  perchance,  another 
nest  tragedy  occurred?  We  looked  carefully; 
there  were  no  signs  of  a  struggle.  They  had  ap- 
parently flown  in  peace.  Yet  six  days  before 
one  was  still  in  the  egg  and  the  other  newly 
hatched.  Only  two  days  ago  the  pair  looked 
like  tiny  black  cushions  covered  with  white 
pins,  and  not  a  quarter  the  size  of  the  parents. 
Moreover,  they  had  been  sat  upon  every  day. 

In  this  painful  uncertainty  we  were  obliged  to 
leave  the  matter;  but  although  we  saw  no  more 
of  them,  they  did  not  pass  out  of  our  minds. 
Every  day  we  looked  in  the  woods  and  listened 
for  cuckoo  voices,  but  every  day  we  were  disap- 
pointed, until  about  eleven  days  later. 

We  were  walking  slowly  down  what  we  called 
the  veery  road  in  the  woods,  far  over  the  other 
side  from  the  cuckoo's  nest,  when  we  heard  a 


MOTHERLY  TACTICS.  199 

very  low  but  strange  baby  cry  in  some  thick 
bushes.  It  was  a  constant  repetition  of  one 
note,  a  gentle  "tut,  tut,  tut." 

We  were  naturally  eager  to  see  the  youngster, 
and  we  carefully  approached  the  spot.  As  we 
came  near,  a  cuckoo  flew  up,  scrambled  through 
a  tree,  and  disappeared.  Could  it  be  a  cuckoo 
baby  we  had  heard?  In  an  instant  the  fugitive 
seemed  to  think  better  of  her  intention  to  fly. 
Perhaps  she  was  conscience-smitten  for  desert- 
ing the  little  one,  for  she  returned  in  plain 
sight,  though  at  some  distance*  She  began  at 
once  calling  and  posturing,  clearly  for  our  bene- 
fit. We,  of  course,  understood  her  tactics.  She 
wished  to  draw  us  away  from  the  neighborhood 
of  her  infant,  and  as  it  was  impossible  to  pene- 
etrate  the  thicket,  and  we  did  not  enjoy  tortur- 
ing an  anxious  mother,  we  decided  to  yield  to 
her  wishes,  and  see  what  she  would  do. 

She  cried  every  moment,  "tut,  tut,  tut,"  in 
a  low  tone,  and  ten  or  twelve  times  repeated. 
At  the  same  time  she  lifted  her  long  tail,  and 
slowly  let  it  fall,  with  a  beautiful  and  graceful 
motion.  She  crouched  on  the  branch,  and  put 
her  head  down  to  it,  then  suddenly  rose  and 
threw  up  her  head  and  tail,  making  herself  as 
conspicuous  and  as  remarkable  as  she  could. 
We  moved  a  little  toward  her.  That  encouraged 
her  to  go  on;  and  easily,  in  a  sort  of  careless, 


200  A  CLEVER  CUCKOO. 

inconsequent  way,  she  hopped  to  the  next  branch 
farther.  So  we  let  ourselves  be  drawn  away,  she 
keeping  up  all  the  time  the  low  call,  while  the 
infant,  which  we  are  sure  was  there,  had  become 
utterly  silent. 

She  was  a  beautiful  creature,  a  picture  of 
grace ;  and  when  she  had  beguiled  us  some  dis- 
tance away  from  where  we  heard  the  baby-cry, 
she  suddenly  slipped  behind  a  branch  and  was 
gone;  and  we  felt  repaid  for  missing  the  young 
one  by  the  beautiful  exhibition  she  had  made  of 
herself.  We  never  saw  her  again. 


XXI. 

TWO   LITTLE   DRUMMERS. 

LAST  summer  I  made  the  acquaintance  of  an 
outlaw ;  an  unfortunate  fellow-creature  under  the 
ban  of  condemnation,  burdened  with  an  oppro- 
brious name,  and  by  general  consent  given  over 
to  the  tender  mercies  of  any  vagabond  who 
chooses  to  torture  him  or  take  his  life.  One 
would  naturally  sympathize  with  the  "under 
dog,"  but  when,  instead  of  one  of  his  peers  as 
opponent,  a  poor  little  fellow,  eight  inches  long, 
has  arrayed  against  him  the  whole  human  race, 
with  all  its  devices  for  catching  and  killing,  his 
chances  for  life  and  the  pursuit  of  happiness 
are  so  small  that  any  lover  of  justice  must  be 
roused  to  his  defense,  if  defense  be  possible. 

The  individual  of  whom  I  speak  is,  properly, 
the  yellow-bellied  woodpecker,  though  he  is 
more  commonly  known  as  the  sapsucker,  in 
some  places  the  squealing  sapsucker;  and  I 
hailed  with  joy  his  presence  in  a  certain  pro- 
tected bit  of  woods,  a  little  paradise  for  birds 
and  bird  lovers,  where,  if  anywhere,  he  could 
be  studied.  There  is  some  propriety  in  apply- 


202  TWO  LITTLE  DEUMMEES. 

ing  to  him  the  strange  epithet  "squealing,"  I 
must  allow,  for  the  bird  has  a  peculiar  voice, 
nasal  enough  for  the  conventional  Brother  Jon- 
athan; but  "sapsucker"  is,  in  the  opinion  of 
many  who  have  studied  his  ways,  undeserved. 
Dr.  Merriam,  even  while  admitting  that  the 
birds  do  taste  the  sap,  says  positively,  "It  is 
my  firm  belief  that  their  chief  object  in  making 
these  holes  is  to  secure  the  insects  which  gather 
about  them." 

My  introduction  to  the  subject  of  my  study 
took  place  just  after  sundown  on  a  beautiful 
June  evening.  We  were  riding  up  from  the 
railway  station,  three  miles  away.  The  horses 
had  climbed  to  the  top  of  the  last  hill,  and  trotted 
gayly  through  a  belt  of  fragrant  woods  which 
reached  like  an  arm  around  from  the  forest 
behind,  as  if  lovingly  inclosing  the  attractive 
scene,  —  a  pleasant,  old-fashioned  homestead, 
with  ample  lawn  sloping  down  toward  the  valley 
we  had  left,  and  looking  away  over  low  hills  to 
the  apparently  unbroken  forests  of  the  Adiron- 
dacks. 

At  this  moment  there  arose  a  loud,  strange 
cry,  of  distress  it  seemed,  and  I  turned  hastily 
to  see  a  black  and  white  bird,  with  bright  red 
crown  and  throat,  bounding  straight  up  the 
trunk  of  an  elm -tree,  throwing  back  his  head  at 
every  jerk  with  a  comical  suggestion  of  Jack's 


PECULIAR  HABITS.  203 

"Hitchety!  hatchety!  up  I  go!  "  as  he  joyously 
mounted  his  beanstalk,  in  the  old  nursery  story. 
There  was  surely  nothing  amiss  with  this  little 
fellow,  and,  knowing  almost  nothing  of  the 

"  Greys,  whites,  and  reds, 

Of  pranked  woodpeckers  that  ne'er  gossip  out, 
But  always  tap  at  doors  and  gad  about," 

I  eagerly  demanded  his  name,  and  was  delighted 
to  hear  in  answer,  "The  sapsucker."  I  was 
delighted  because  I  hoped  to  see  for  myself 
whether  the  bird  merited  the  offensive  name 
bestowed  upon  him,  or  was  the  victim  of  hasty 
generalization  from  careless  observation  or  in- 
sufficient data,  like  others  of  his  race.  The 
close  investigations  of  scientific  men  have  re- 
versed many  popular  decisions.  They  have 
proved  the  crow  to  be  the  farmer's  friend,  most 
of  the  hawks  and  owls  to  be  laborers  in  his  in- 
terest, the  kingbird  to  fare  almost  entirely  upon 
destructive  insects  rather  than  bees,  and  other 
birds  to  be  more  sinned  against  than  sinning. 

The  first  thing  noted  was  the  sapsucker 's 
peculiar  food  -  seeking  habit.  One  bird  made 
the  lawn  a  daily  haunt,  and  we,  living  chiefly 
on  the  veranda,  saw  him  before  us  at  all  hours, 
from  dawn  to  dusk,  and  thus  had  the  best  possi- 
ble chance  to  catch  him  in  mischief,  if  to  mis- 
chief he  inclined.  He  generally  made  his  ap- 
pearance flying  in  bounding,  wavelike  fashion, 


204  TWO  LITTLE  DEUMMEES. 

uttering  his  loud  mournful  cry,  which,  though 
an  apparent  wail,  was  evidently  not  inspired  by 
sadness.  Alighting  near  the  foot  of  a  tree- 
trunk,  with  many  repetitions  of  his  complain- 
ing note,  he  gayly  bobbed  his  way  up  the-  bark 
highway  as  if  it  were  a  ladder.  When  he 
reached  the  branches,  he  flew  to  another  tree. 
This  bird's  custom  of  delivering  his  striking  call 
as  he  approached  and  mounted  a  tree  not  far 
from  his  "food  tree"  may  be  a  newly  acquired 
habit;  for  Dr.  Merriam,  who  observed  this  spe- 
cies ten  years  ago  on  the  same  place,  says  that 
he  "never  heard  a  note  of  any  description  from 
them,  either  while  in  the  neighborhood  of  these 
trees,  or  in  flying  to  and  fro  between  them  and 
the  forests."  On  his  own  trees  the  sapsucker 
was  not  in  such  haste,  but  lingered  about  the 
prepared  rings,  evidently  taking  his  pick  of  the 
insects  attracted  there. 

The  array  of  traps  prepared  for  the  wood- 
pecker's use  was  most  curious,  and  readily  ex- 
plained how  he  came  by  his  name.  The  clever 
little  workman  had  selected  for  his  purpose  two 
trees.  One  was  a  large  elm,  and  around  its 
trunk,  about  fifteen  feet  from  the  ground,  he 
had  laboriously  cut  with  his  sharp  beak  several 
rings  of  cups.  These  receptacles  were  some- 
what less  than  half  an  inch  in  diameter,  and 
nearly  their  own  width  apart,  and  the  rings  en- 


THE  SAP  SUCKER'S  TRAPS.  205 

circled  the  trunk  as  regularly  as  though  laid  out 
with  mechanical  instruments.  His  second  depot 
of  supplies  was  one  of  a  close  group  of  mountain 
ashes,  which  seemed  to  spring  from  one  root,, 
and  were  thickly  shaded  by  leaves  to  the  ground. 
The  elm  would  naturally  attract  the  high-flying 
insects,  and  the  ash  those  which  stay  nearer  the 
earth,  though  I  do  not  presume  to  say  that  was 
the  bird's  intention  in  so  arranging  them.  The 
mountain-ash  trunk  was  perforated  in  a  different 
way  from  the  elm,  the  holes  being  in  lines  up 
and  down,  and  the  whole  trunk  covered  five  or 
six  feet  above  the  root.  These  places  were  not 
at  all  moist  or  sticky  on  the  several  occasions 
when  I  examined  them,  and  both  trees  were  in 
a  flourishing  condition. 

The  habit  of  the  author  of  this  elaborate  ar- 
rangement was  to  fly  from  one  tree  to  the  other 
almost  constantly.  It  appeared  to  lookers-on 
that  he  visited  the  traps  on  one  and  secured 
whatever  was  caught  or  lingered  there,  then 
went  to  the  other  for  the  same  purpose ;  thus  al- 
lowing insects  a  chance  to  settle  on  each  while 
he  was  absent.  At  almost  any  hour  of  the  day 
he  could  be  found  vigorously  carrying  on  his 
insect  hunt  in  this  singular  fashion. 

It  was  too  late  in  the  season  to  see  the  sap- 
sucker  in  his  most  frolicsome  humor,  although 
occasionally  we  met  in  the  woods  two  of  them 


206  TWO  LITTLE  DRUMMERS. 

in  a  lively  mood,  eagerly  discussing  in  garrulous 
tones  their  own  private  affairs,  or  chasing  each 
other  with  droll,  taunting  cries,  some  of  which 
resembled  the  boy's  yell,  "oy-ee,"  but  others 
defied  description.  During  courtship,  observes 
Dr.  Merriam,  they  are  inexpressibly  comical, 
with  queer  rollicking  ways  and  eccentric  pranks, 
making  the  woods  ring  with  their  extraordinary 
voices.  At  this  time,  early  in  June,  the  season 
of  woodpecker  wooing  was  past.  Each  little 
couple  had  built  a  castle  in  the  air,  and  set  up 
a  household  of  its  own,  somewhere  in  the  woods 
surrounding  the  house. 

The  two  storehouses  on  the  lawn  seemed  to 
belong  to  one  family,  whose  labor  alone  had  pre- 
pared them;  certainly  they  were  the  property 
of  the  sapsuckers.  But  the  bird  world,  like  the 
human,  has  its  spoilers.  A  frequent  visitor  to 
the  elm,  on  poaching  bent,  was  a  humming-bird, 
who  treated  the  beguiling  cups  like  so  many 
flowers,  hovering  lightly  before  them,  and  testing 
one  after  another  in  regular  order.  The  owner 
naturally  objected,  and  if  present  flew  at  the 
dainty  robber;  but  the  elusive  birdling  simply 
moved  to  another  place,  not  in  the  least  awed  by 
his  comparatively  clumsy  assailant.  Large  flies, 
perhaps  bees  also,  buzzed  around  the  tempting 
bait,  and  doubtless  many  paid  with  their  lives 
for  their  folly. 


PETTY  PILFERERS.  207 

The  most  unexpected  plunderer  of  the  sap- 
sucker  stores  was  a  gray  squirrel,  who  lay  spread 
out  flat  against  the  trunk  as  though  glued  there, 
body,  arms,  legs,  and  even  tail,  with  head  down 
and  closely  pressed  against  the  bark.  I  cannot 
positively  affirm  that  he  was  sucking  the  sap  or 
feeding  upon  the  insects  attracted  to  it,  but  it  is 
a  fact  that  his  mouth  rested  exactly  over  one  of 
the  rings  of  holes ;  and  his  position  seemed  very 
satisfactory,  for  some  reason,  for  he  hung  there 
motionless  so  long  that  I  began  to  fear  he  was 
dead.  All  these  petty  pilferers  may  possibly 
have  regarded  the  treasure  as  nature's  own 
provision,  like  the  flowers,  but  one  visitor  to 
his  neighbor's  magazine  certainly  knew  better. 
This  was  the  brilliant  cousin  of  the  sapsucker, 
the  red-headed  woodpecker,  whose  vagaries  I 
shall  speak  of  a  little  later. 

Nothing  about  the  tri-colored  family  is  more 
interesting  than  its  habit  of  drumming,  — 

"  The  ceaseless  rap 
Of  the  yellow-hammer's  tap, 
Tip-tap,  tip-tap,  tip-tap-tip. 
'Tis  the  merry  pitter-patter 
Of  the  yellow-hammer's  tap." 

Whether  or  not  it  is  mere  play  is  perhaps  yet 
an  open  question.  The  drumming  of  the  sap- 
sucker,  one  of  the  most  common  sounds  of  the 
woods  and  lawn,  seemed  sometimes  simply  for 


208  TWO  LITTLE  DRUMMERS. 

amusement,  but  again  it  appeared  exceedingly 
like  a  signal.  A  bird  frequently  settled  himself 
in  plain  sight  of  us,  on  one  of  the  trespass  no- 
tices in  the  woods,  and  spent  several  minutes  in 
that  occupation,  changing  his  place  now  and 
then,  and  thus  producing  different  sounds, 
whether  with  that  intention  or  not.  Now  he 
would  tap  on  top  of  the  board,  again  down  one 
side,  and  then  on  a  corner,  but  always  on  the 
edge.  Nor  was  it  a  regular  and  monotonous 
rapping ;  it  was  curiously  varied.  One  perform- 
ance that  I  carefully  noted  down  at  the  mo- 
ment reminded  me  of  the  click  of  a  telegraph 
instrument.  It  was  "rat-tat-tat-t-t-t-t-rat-tat," 
—  the  first  three  notes  rather  quick  and  sharp, 
the  next  four  very  rapid,  and  the  last  two  quite 
slow.  After  tapping,  the  bird  always  seemed  to 
listen.  Often  while  I  was  watching  one  at  his 
hammering,  a  signal  of  the  same  sort  would  come 
from  a  distance.  Sometimes  my  bird  replied; 
sometimes  he  instantly  flew  in  the  direction  from 
which  it  came.  Around  the  house  the  wood- 
peckers selected  particular  spots  to  use  as  drums, 
generally  a  bit  of  tin  on  a  roof,  or  an  eave- 
gutter  of  the  same  metal.  A  favorite  place  was 
the  hindquarters  of  a  gorgeous  gilded  deer  that 
swung  with  the  wind  on  the  roof  of  the  barn. 

So  closely  were  they  watched  that  the  sap- 
suckers  themselves  were  like  old  acquaintances 


A  FEATHERED  CRY-BABY.  209 

before  the  babes  in  the  woods  began  to  make 
themselves  heard.  No  sooner  had  these  little 
folk  found  their  voices  than  they  made  the  woods 
fairly  echo.  Cry-babies  in  feathers  I  thought 
I  knew  before,'  but  the  young  woodpecker  out- 
does anything  in  my  experience.  No  wonder 
the  woodpecker  mamma  sets  up  her  nursery  out 
of  the  reach  of  prowlers  of  all  sorts ;  so  loud  and 
so  persistent  are  the  demands  of  her  nestlings 
that  they  would  not  be  safe  an  hour,  if  they 
could  be  got  at.  The  tone,  too,  must  always 
arrest  attention,  for  it  is  of  the  nasal  quality  I 
have  mentioned.  The  first  baby  whisper,  hardly 
heard  at  the  foot  of  the  tree,  has  a  squeaky 
twang,  which  strengthens  with  the  infant's 
strength,  and  the  grown-up  murmurs  of  love 
and  screams  of  war  are  of  the  same  order. 

It  was  during  the  nest-feeding  days  that  we 
discovered  most  of  the  sapsucker  homesteads; 
for,  having  many  nests  nearer  our  own  level  to 
study,  we  never  sought  them,  and  noticed  them 
only  when  the  baby  voices  attracted  our  atten- 
tion. The  home  that  apparently  belonged  to 
our  bird  of  the  lawn  was  beautifully  placed  in 
a  beech -tree  heavy  with  foliage.  At  first  we* 
thought  the  owner  an  eccentric  personage,  who 
had  violated  all  sapsucker  traditions  by  building 
in  a  living  tree ;  but,  on  looking  closely,  it  was 
evident  that  the  top  of  the  tree  had  been  blown 


210  TWO  LITTLE  DRUMMERS. 

off,  and  from  that  break  the  trunk  was  dead  two 
or  three  feet  down.  In  that  part  was  the  open- 
ing, and  the  foliage  that  nearly  hid  it  grew  on 
the  large  branches  below.  Most  of  the  nests, 
however,  were  in  the  customary  dead  trunks, 
on  which  we  could  gently  rap,  and  bring  out 
whoever  was  at  home  to  answer  our  call. 

Young  woodpeckers  are  somewhat  precocious ; 
or,  to  speak  more  correctly,  they  stay  in  the 
nest  till  almost  mature.  We  see  in  this  family 
no  half-fledged  youngster  wandering  aimlessly 
about,  unable  to  fly  or  to  help  itself,  a  sight 
very  common  among  the  feathered  folk  whose 
homes  are  nearer  the  ground.  One  morning,  a 
young  bird,  not  yet  familar  with  the  mysteries 
of  the  world  about  him,  flew  into  the  open  win- 
dow of  a  room  in  the  house,  and  for  an  hour  we 
had  a  fine  opportunity  to  study  him  near  at 
hand.  The  moment  he  entered  he  went  to  the 
cornice,  and  although  he  flew  around  freely,  he 
did  not  descend  so  low  as  the  top  of  the  window, 
wide  open  for  his  benefit.  He  was  not  in  the 
least  afraid  or  embarrassed  by  his  staring  audi- 
ence, nor  did  he  beat  himself  against  the  wall 
and  the  furniture,  as  would  many  birds  in  his 
position ;  in  fact,  he  showed  unusual  self-pos- 
session and  self-reliance.  He  was  exceedingly 
curious  about  his  surroundings :  tapped  the  wall, 
tested  the  top  of  picture  frames,  drummed  on  the 


THE  BEAUTY  OF  THE  FAMILY.       211 

curtain  cornice,  and  closely  examined  the  ceil- 
ing. He  was  beautifully  dressed  in  soft  gray  all 
mottled  and  spotted  and  barred  with  white,  but 
he  had  not  as*  yet  put  on  the  red  cap  of  his  fa- 
thers. While  we  watched  him,  he  heard  outside 
a  sapsucker  cry,  to  which  he  listened  eagerly; 
then  he  drummed  quite  vigorously  on  the  cor- 
nice, as  if  in  reply.  It  was  not  till  he  must 
have  been  very  hungry  that  he  blundered  out  of 
the  window,  as  he  had  doubtless  blundered  in. 

The  beauty  of  the  drumming  family,  at  least 
in  that  part  of  the  country,  is  the  red-headed 
woodpecker,  which  it  happened  I  did  not  know. 
The  first  time  I  saw  one,  he  was  out  for  an  air- 
ing with  his  mate,  one  lovely  evening  in  June. 
The  pair  were  scrambling  about,  as  if  in  play, 
on  the  trunk  of  a  tall  maple -tree  across  the  lane. 
They  did  not  welcome  our  visit,  nor  our  perhaps 
rather  rude  way  of  gazing  at  them;  for  one  flew 
away,  and  the  other  parched  on  the  topmost 
dead  branch  of  a  tree  a  little  farther  off,  and 
proceeded  to  express  his  mind  by  a  scolding 
ukr-r-r,"  accompanied  by  violent  bows  toward 
us.  Finding  his  demonstration  unavailing,  he 
soon  followed  his  mate,  and  weeks  passed  before 
we  saw  him  again,  although  we  often  walked 
down  the  lane  with  the  hope  of  doing  so. 

One  beautiful  morning,  after  the  hay  had 
been  cut  from  the  meadow,  and  all  the  hidden 


212  TWO  LITTLE  DRUMMERS. 

nests  we  had  looked  at  and  longed  for  while 
grass  was  growing,  were  opened  to  us,  I  had 
taken  my  comfortable  folding-chair  to  a  spe- 
cially delightful  nook  between  a  clump  of  ever- 
greens, which  screened  it  from  the  house,  and  a 
row  of  maples,  elms,  and  other  trees,  much  fre- 
quented by  birds.  Close  before  me  was  a  beauti- 
ful hawthorn -tree,  in  which  a  pair  of  kingbirds 
had  long  ago  built  their  nest.  On  one  side  I 
could  look  over  to  an  impenetrable,  somewhat 
swampy  thicket,  where  song  sparrows  and  in- 
digo birds  nested;  on  the  other,  past  the  pic- 
turesque old-fashioned  arbor,  half  buried  under 
vines  and  untrimmed  trees,  far  down  the  pretty 
carriage-drive  between  young  elms  and  flowering 
shrubs,  where  the  bobolink  had  raised  her  brood, 
and  the  meadow  lark  had  chanted  his  vesper 
hymn  for  us  all  through  June.  Many  winged 
strangers  came  to  feast  on  the  treasures  uncov- 
ered by  the  hay-cutter,  and  then  the  shy  red- 
head showed  himself  on  our  grounds.  To  my 
surprise,  he  was  searching  the  freshly  cut  stub- 
ble not  at  all  like  a  woodpecker,  but  hobbling 
about  most  awkwardly,  half  flying,  half  hop- 
ping, seeking  some  delectable  morsel,  which, 
when  found,  he  carried  to  the  side  of  a  tree-trunk, 
thrust  into  a  crack,  and  ate  at  his  leisure.  The 
object  I  saw  him  treat  in  this  way  was  as  large 
as  a  bee,  and  he  was  some  time  in  disposing  of 


A  RED-HEADED  POACHER.  213 

it,  even  after  it  was  anchored  in  the  crack. 
Then,  observing  that,  although  a  long  way  off, 
I  was  interested  in  his  doings,  he  slipped  around 
behind  the  trunk,  and  peered  at  me  first  from 
one  side,  then  in  an  instant  from  the  other. 

The  next  performance  with  which  this  bird 
entertained  me  was  poaching  upon  his  cousin's 
preserves.  Sitting  one  evening  on  the  veranda, 
looking  over  the  meadow,  I  heard  his  low 
"kr-r-r,"  and  saw  him  alight  upon  the  sapsuck- 
er's  elm.  Whether  he  stumbled  upon  the  feast 
or  went  with  malice  aforethought,  he  was  not 
slow  to  appreciate  the  charms  of  his  position.  It 
may  have  been  the  nectar  from  the  tree,  or  the 
minute  victims  of  its  attractions,  I  could  not  tell 
which,  but  something  pleased  him,  for  he  de- 
voted himself  to  the  task  of  exploring  the  tiny 
cups  his  industrious  relative  had  carved,  driv- 
ing away  one  of  the  younger  members  of  the 
family  already  in  possession.  The  young  bird 
could  not  refuse  to  go  before  the  big  beak  and 
determined  manner  of  the  stranger,  but  he  did 
refuse  to  stay  away;  and  every  time  he  was 
ousted  he  returned  to  the  tree,  though  he  settled 
on  a  different  place.  Before  the  red -head  had 
shown  any  signs  of  exhausting  his  find,  the  sap- 
sucker  himself  appeared,  and  at  once  fell  upon 
his  bigger  cousin  with  savage  cries.  Disturbed 
so  rudely  from  his  pleasing  occupation,  the  in- 


214  TWO  LITTLE  DEUMMERS. 

trader  retired  before  the  attack,  though  he  pro- 
tested vigorously;  and  so  great  was  the  fascina- 
tion of  the  spot,  that  he  returned  again  and 
again,  every  time  to  go  through  the  same  pro- 
cess of  being  driven  away. 

The  raspberry  hedge  before  my  windows  was 
the  decoy  that  gave  me  my  best  chance  to  study 
the  red-headed  woodpecker.  Day  after  day,  as 
the  berries  ripened,  I  watched  the  dwellers  of 
wood  and  meadow  drawn  to  the  rich  feast,  and 
at  last,  one  morning,  to  my  great  joy,  I  saw  the 
interesting  drummer  alight  on  a  post  overlooking 
the  loaded  vines.  He  plainly  felt  himself  a 
stranger,  and  not  certain  of  his  reception  by  the 
residents  of  the  neighborhood,  for  he  crouched 
close  to  the  fence,  and  looked  warily  about  on 
every  side.  He  had  been  there  but  a  few  mo- 
ments when  a  robin,  self -constituted  dictator 
of  that  particular  corner  of  the  premises,  came 
down  a  few  feet  from  him,  as  if  to  inquire  his 
business.  The  woodpecker  acknowledged  the 
courtesy  by  drawing  himself  up  very  straight 
and  bowing.  The  bow  impressed,  not  to  say 
awed,  the  native  bird.  He  stood  staring 
blankly,  till  the  new-comer  proclaimed  his  er- 
rand by  dropping  into  the  bushes,  helping  him- 
self to  a  berry,  and  returning  to  the  fence  to  dis- 
pose of  his  plunder.  This  was  too  much;  the 
outraged  redbreast  dashed  suddenly  over  th?  head 


INSULT  OF  A  ROBIN.  215 

of  the  impertinent  visitor,  almost  touching  it  as 
he  passed.  The  woodpecker  kept  his  ground  in 
spite  of  this  demonstration,  and  I  learned  how 
a  bird  accustomed  to  rest,  and  even  to  work, 
hanging  to  the  trunk  of  a  tree,  would  manage 
to  pluck  and  eat  fruit  from  a  bush.  He  first 
sidled  along  the  top  of  the  board  fence,  looking 
down,  till  he  had  selected  his  berry.  Then  he 
half  dropped,  half  flew,  into  the  bushes,  and 
sometimes  seized  the  ripe  morsel  instantly,  with- 
out alighting,  but  generally  hung,  back  down, 
on  a  stalk  which  bent  and  swayed  with  his  weight, 
while  he  deliberately  gathered  the  fruit.  He 
then  returned  to  the  fence,  laid  his  prize  down, 
and  pecked  it  apart,  making  three  or  four  bites 
of  it.  After  some  practice  he  learned  to  swal- 
low a  berry  whole,  though  it  often  required 
three  or  four  attempts,  and  seemed  almost  more 
than  he  could  manage..  When  he  had  accom- 
plished this  feat,  he  sat  with  his  head  drawn 
down  into  his  shoulders,  as  though  he  found 
himself  uncomfortably  stuffed.  Having  eaten 
two  or  three  raspberries,  our  distinguished  vis- 
itor always  picked  another,  with  which  he  flew 
away,  —  doubtless  for  the  babies  growing  up  in 
some  dead  tree  across  the  lane. 

The  little  difficulty  with  the  robin  was  easily 
settled  by  the  stranger.  Somewhat  later  in  that 
first  day,  he  took  his  revenge  for  the  insulting 


216  TWO  LITTLE  DRUMMERS. 

dash  over  him  by  turning  the  tables  and  sweep- 
ing over  the  lofty  head  of  the  astonished  robin, 
who  ducked  ingloriously,  in  his  surprise,  and 
called  out,  "Tut!  tut!"  as  who  should  say, 
"Can  such  things  be?"  After  that  Master 
Robin  undertook  a  closer  surveillance  of  that 
highway  the  fence,  and  might  be  seen  at  all  hours 
perched  on  the  tall  gatepost,  looking  out  for 
callers  in  brilliant  array,  or  running  along  its 
whole  length  to  see  that  no  wily  woodpecker 
was  hiding  in  the  bushes.  He  could  not  be  on 
guard  every  moment,  for  his  nursery  up  under 
the  eaves  of  the  barn  was  full  of  clamorous  ba- 
bies, and  he  was  obliged  to  give  some  attention 
to  them ;  but  the  red-head  was  not  afraid  of  him, 
and,  finding  the  fruit  to  his  taste,  he  soon  be- 
came a  daily  guest. 

Sometimes  the  spouse  of  the  gay  little  fellow 
came  also.  She  was  always  greeted  by  a  low- 
whispered  "kr-r-r,"  and  the  husky-toned  con- 
versation between  the  two  was  kept  up  so  long 
as  both  were  there.  Now,  too,  as  the  male  be- 
gan to  feel  at  home,  I  saw  more  of  his  odd  ways. 
His  attitudes  were  especially  comical.  Some- 
times he  clung  to  the  edge  of  the  top  board, 
his  tail  pressed  against  it,  his  wings  drooped 
and  spread  a  little,  exposing  his  whole  back,  and 
thus  remained  for  perhaps  ten  minutes.  Again 
he  flattened  himself  out  on  top  of  a  post  for  a 


LEARNING  A  NEW  TRADE.  217 

sun  bath.  He  sprawled  and  spread  himself, 
every  feather  standing  independent  of  its  neigh- 
bor, till  he  looked  as  if  he  had  been  smashed 
flat,  and  more  like  some  of  the  feather  monstros- 
ities with  which  milliners  disfigure  their  hats 
than  a  living  bird. 

Another  curious  habit  of  my  versatile  guest 
was  his  fly-catching.  It  is  already  notorious 
that  the  golden-wing  is  giving  up  the  profession 
of  woodpecker  and  becoming  a  ground  bird ;  it 
is  equally  patent  to  one  who  observes  him  that 
the  red-head  is  learning  the  trade  of  fly-catch- 
ing. Frequently,  during  the  weeks  that  I  had 
him  under  observation,  I  saw  him  fly  up  in  the 
air  and  return  to  the  fence,  exactly  like  the  king- 
bird. 

All  the  time  I  had  been  making  this  pleasing 
acquaintance  I  had  longed  in  vain  to  find  the 
red-head's  nest.  It  was  probably  in  the  pasture 
in  which  we  had  first  met  him,  where  the  some- 
what spirited  cattle  in  possession  prevented  my 
explorations.  I  hoped  at  least  to  see  his  young 
family;  but  July  days  passed  away,  and  though 
the  bonny  couple  spent  much  time  among  the 
raspberries,  they  always  carried  off  the  nest- 
lings' share. 

In  the  very  last  hours  of  my  stay,  after  trunks 
were  packed,  fate  relented,  and  I  spent  nearly 
the  whole  day  studying  the  "tricks  and  man- 


218  TWO  LITTLE  DRUMMERS. 

ners "  of  a  red-headed  baby.  I  had  returned 
from  my  last  morning's  walk  in  the  woods,  and 
was  seated  by  my  window,  thinking  half  sadly 
that  my  summer  was  ended,  when  I  saw  the 
woodpecker  come  to  the  raspberries,  gather  one, 
and  fly  away  with  it.  Instead,  however,  of 
heading,  as  usual,  for  the  woods  across  the  pas- 
ture, he  alighted  on  a  fence  near  by.  A  small 
dark  head  rose  above  the  edge  of  a  board,  opened 
a  bill,  and  received  the  berry  in  it.  Instantly  I 
turned  my  glass  upon  that  meek-looking  head. 
So  soon  as  the  old  bird  disappeared  the  young 
one  came  up  in  sight,  and  in  a  few  moments  flew 
over  to  the  nearer  fence,  beside  the  bushes. 
Then  one  of  the  parents  returned,  fed  him  two 
or  three  times,  apparently  to  show  him  that  ber- 
ries grew  on  bushes,  and  not  in  the  beak,  and 
then  departed  with  an  air  that  said,  "There, 
my  son,  are  the  berries;  help  yourself!  " 

Left  now  to  his  own  devices,  the  little  wood- 
pecker was  my  study  for  hours.  He  was  like 
his  parents,  except  that  he  was  gray  where  they 
were  red,  and  the  white  on  the  wings  was  barred 
off  with  a  dark  color  which  on  theirs  did  not  ap- 
pear. Like  young  creatures  the  world  over,  he 
at  once  began  to  amuse  himself,  working  at  a 
hole  in  the  top  of  a  post,  digging  into  ft  vehe- 
mently, and  at  last,  after  violent  effort,  bring- 
ing out  a  stick  nearly  as  long  as  himself.  This 


THE  BABY'S  FROLIC.  219 

he  brandished  about  as  a  child  flourishes  a  whip, 
and  presently  laid  it  down,  worried  it,  flung  it 
about,  and  had  a  rare  frolic  with  it.  Tiring  of 
that,  he  closely  examined  the  fence,  going  over 
it  inch  by  inch,  and  pecking  every  mark  and 
stain  on  it.  When  startled  by  a  bird  flying  over 
or  alighting  near  him,  he  sprang  back  instantly, 
slipped  over  behind  the  fence  or  post,  and  hung 
on  by  his  claws,  leaving  only  his  head  in  sight. 
He  was  a  true  woodpecker  in  his  manners ;  bow- 
ing to  strangers  who  appeared,  driving  away  one 
of  his  sapsucker  cousins  who  came  about,  and 
keeping  up  a  low  cry  of  "  kr-r-r  "  almost  exactly 
like  his  parents.  He  showed  also  great  interest 
in  a  party  of  goldfinches,  who  seemed  to  have 
gone  mad  that  morning. 

Finally  the  thought  of  berries  struck  the  young 
red -head.  He  began  to  consider  going  for 
them.  One  could  fairly  see  the  idea  grow  in  his 
mind.  He  leaned  over  and  peered  into  the 
bushes;  he  hitched  along  the  fence,  a  little 
nearer,  bent  over  again,  then  came  down  on  the 
side  of  the  board,  and  hung  there,  with  body 
inclined  toward  the  fruit.  After  many  such 
feints,  he  actually  did  drop  to  the  second  board, 
and  a  little  later  secured  a  berry,  which  he  took 
to  the  top  of  the  post  to  eat.  In  spite  of  the 
fact  that  he  was  amply  able  to  help  himself,  as 
he  proved,  he  ^till  demanded  food  when  his  par- 


220  TWO  LITTLE  DRUMMERS. 

ents  came  near,  bowing  and  calling  eagerly,  but 
not  fluttering  his  wings,  as  do  most  young  birds. 
Nearly  all  day  the  little  fellow  entertained 
himself;  working  industriously  on  the  fence, 
hammering  the  posts  as  if  to  keep  in  practice, 
as  children  play  at  their  parents'  life  work,  and 
varying  these  occupations  with  occasional  excur- 
sions into  the  bushes  for  berries.  The  notion 
of  flying  away  from  where  he  had  been  left  never 
appeared  to  enter  his  head.  He  seemed  to  be 
an  unusually  well-balanced  young  person,  and 
intelligent  beyond  his  years,  —  days,  I  should 
say. 


XXII. 

FROM   MY  WINDOW. 

THE  best  place  I  have  found  for  spying  upon 
the  habits  of  birds  is  behind  a  blind.  If  one 
can  command  a  window  with  outside  blinds, 
looking  upon  a  spot  attractive  to  the  feathered 
world,  he  will  be  sure,  sooner  or  later,  to  see 
every  bird  of  the  vicinity.  If  he  will  keep  the 
blinds  closed  and  look  only  through  the  opened 
slats,  he  will  witness  more  of  their  unconstrained 
free  ways  than  can  possibly  be  seen  by  a  person 
within  their  sight,  though  he  assume  the  atti- 
tude and  the  stolidity  of  a  wooden  figure.  Says 
our  nature -poet,  Emerson :  — 

"  You  often  thread  the  woods  in  vain 
To  see  what  singer  piped  the  strain. 
Seek  not,  and  the  little  eremite 
Flies  forth  and  gayly  sings  in  sight." 

And  the  bird  student  can  testify  to  the  truth  of 
the  verse. 

Many  times,  after  having  spent  the  morning 
in  wandering  about  in  the  bird  haunts  of  a  neigh- 
borhood, I  have  returned  to  my  room  to  write 
up  my  note-book,  and  have  seen  more  of  birds 


222  FROM  MY  WINDOW. 

and  bird  life  in  an  hour  from  my  window  than 
during  the  whole  morning's  stroll. 

One  of  my  windows,  last  summer,  looked  out 
upon  an  ideal  bird  corner :  a  bit  of  grass,  uncut 
till  very  late,  with  a  group  of  trees  and  shrubs 
at  the  lower  boundary,  and  an  old  board  fence, 
half  buried  in  luxuriant  wild  raspberry  bushes, 
running  along  one  side.  It  was  a  neglected 
spot,  the  side  yard  of  a  farmhouse ;  and  I  was 
careful  not  to  enter  it  myself  so  often  as  to  sug- 
gest to  the  birds  that  they  were  likely  to  see  peo- 
ple. It  had  the  further  advantage  of  being  so 
near  the  woods  surrounding  the  house,  that  the 
shy  forest  birds  were  attracted  to  it. 

No  sooner  would  I  seat  myself,  pen  in  hand, 
than  chirps  and  twitters  would  come  from  the 
trees,  a  bird  alight  on  the  fence,  or  a  red  squir- 
rel come  out  to  sun  himself.  Of  course  the  pen 
gave  way  to  the  opera-glass  in  a  moment,  and 
often  not  a  line  of  the  note-book  got  itself  writ- 
ten till  birds  and  squirrels  had  gone  to  bed  with 
the  sun. 

The  group  of  trees  which  bounded  my  view  at 
the  end  of  this  outdoor  study  I  called  the  "lo- 
cust group."  It  consisted  of  a  locust  or  two, 
surrounded  by  a  small  but  close  growth  of  lesser 
trees  and  shrubs  that  made  a  heavy  mass  of  fo- 
liage. There  were  a  few  young  ashes,  two  or 
three  half -grown  maples,  a  shadberry  bush,  and 


THE  PHCEBE'S  PERCH.  223 

wild  raspberry  vines  to  carry  the  varied  foliage 
to  the  ground.  Inside  this  beautiful  tangle  of 
Nature's  own  arranging,  was  a  perfect  tent,  so 
thickly  grown  near  the  ground  that  a  person 
could  hardly  penetrate  it  without  an  axe,  but 
open  and  roomy  above,  with  branches  and  twigs 
enough  to  accommodate  an  army  of  birds.  Be- 
hind that  waving  green  curtain  of  leaves  took 
place  many  dramas  I  longed  to  see ;  but  I  knew 
that  my  appearance  there  would  be  a  signal  for 
the  whole  scene  to  vanish,  and  with  flit  of  wings 
the  dramatis  personce  to  make  their  exit.  So  I 
tried  to  possess  my  soul  in  patience,  and  to  con- 
tent myself  with  the  flashes  and  glimpses  I  could 
catch  through  an  opening  here  and  there  in  the 
leafy  drapery. 

At  one  corner  of  the  group  stood  a  small  dead 
tree.  This  was  the  phcebe's  customary  perch, 
and  on  those  bare  branches  —  first  or  last  — 
every  visitor  was  sure  to  appear.  On  the  lower 
branch  the  robin  paused,  with  worm  in  mouth, 
on  the  way  to  his  two-story  nest  under  the  eaves 
of  the  barn.  On  the  top  spire  the  warbler  baby 
sat  and  stared  at  the  world  about  it,  till  its 
anxious  parent  could  coax  it  to  a  more  secluded 
perch.  From  a  side  branch  the  veery  poured 
his  wonderful  song,  and  the  cheery  little  song 
sparrow  uttered  his  message  of  good  will  for  all 
to  hear  and  heed.  Here  the  red-headed  wood- 


224  FEOM  MY  WINDOW. 

pecker  waited,  with  low  "k-r-r-r-r"  and  many 
bows  to  the  universe  in  general,  to  see  if  the 
way  were  clear  for  him  to  go  to  the  fence.  No- 
thing is  so  good  to  bring  birds  into  sight  as  an 
old  fence  or  a  dead  tree.  On  the  single  leafless 
branch  at  the  top  of  an  old  apple-tree  the  stu- 
dent will  generally  see,  at  one  time  or  another, 
every  bird  in  an  orchard. 

This  dead  tree  of  the  locust  group  was  the 
regular  perch  of  "the  loneliest  of  its  kind,"  the 
phoabe,  whose  big  chuckle-head  and  high  shoul- 
ders gave  him  the  look  of  an  old  man,  bent  with 
age.  His  outline  one  could  never  mistake,  even 
though  he  were  but  a  silhouette  against  the  sky. 
One  of  these  birds  could  nearly  always  be  seen 
on  the  lowest  branch  pursuing  his  business  of 
flycatcher,  and  I  learned  more  of  the  singularly 
reserved  creature  than  I  ever  knew  before.  I 
found,  contrary  to  my  expectation,  that  he  had 
a  great  deal  to  say  for  himself,  aside  from  the 
professional  performance  at  the  peak  of  the  barn 
roof  which  gives  him  his  name. 

"  Phoebe  is  all  it  has  to  say 
In  plaintive  cadence  o'er  and  o'er," 

sings  the  poet,  but  he  had  not  so  close  acquaint- 
ance with  him  as  I  enjoyed  behind  my  blind. 
There  were  two  mud  cottages  in  the  neighbor- 
hood, and  two  pairs  of  birds  to  occupy  them,  and 


DROLL  ANTICS  OF  A  PHOSBE.          225 

no  phcebe  of  spirit  will  tolerate  in  silence  an- 
other of  his  kind  near  him.  Sparrows  of  all 
sorts  might  come  about ;  j uncos  and  chickadees, 
thrushes  and  warblers,  might  alight  on  his 
chosen  tree,  —  rarely  a  word  would  he  say ;  but 
let  a  phcebe  appear,  and  there  began  at  once  a 
war  of  words.  It  might  be  mere  friendly  talk, 
but  it  sounded  very  much  like  vituperation  and 
"calling  names,"  and  I  noticed  that  it  ended  in 
a  chase  and  the  disappearance  of  one  of  them. 

Again,  whenever  a  phoebe  alighted  on  the 
fence  he  made  a  low  but  distinct  remark  that 
sounded  marvelously  like  "cheese-it,"  and  sev- 
eral times  the  mysterious  bird  treated  me  to  a 
very  singular  performance.  He  hovered  like  a 
humming-bird  close  before  a  nest,  looking  into 
it  and  uttering  a  loud  strange  cry,  like  the  last 
note  of  "phoebe"  repeated  rapidly,  as  "be-be- 
be."  Was  it  derision,  complaint,  or  a  mere 
neighborly  call?  This  was  not  for  the  benefit 
of  his  own  family,  for  he  did  it  before  the 
robin's  nest.  I  thought  at  first  he  meant  mis- 
chief to  the  young  robins,  but  although  he  ap- 
proached very  near  he  did  not  actually  touch 
them. 

The  loudest  note  this  bird  uttered  was,  of 
course,  his  well-known  "phoebe,"  which  he  de- 
livered from  the  peak  of  the  barn  (never  from 
the  dead  tree)  with  an  emphasis  that  proclaimed 


226  FROM  MY  WINDOW. 

to  all  whom  it  might  concern  that  he  had  some- 
thing on  his  mind.  It  was  plain  that  he  was  a 
person  of  cares ;  indeed,  his  whole  bearing  was 
that  of  one  with  no  nonsense  about  him,  with 
serious  duties  to  perform.  I  wonder  if  these 
birds  are  ever  playful !  Even  the  babies  are 
dignified  and  self-contained.  Phoebes  in  a  frolic 
would  be  a  rare  sight.  Of  the  two  nests  whose 
owners  I  had  to  study,  one  was  on  a  low  beam 
in  the  cow-barn,  where  a  person  might  look  in ; 
the  other  under  the  eaves  of  a  farm-building 
close  by. 

The  special  policeman  of  the  group  and  its 
environs  was  a  robin,  who  lived  in  a  two-story 
nest  under  the  eaves  of  the  hay-barn.  This 
bird,  after  the  manner  of  his  family,  constituted 
himself  regulator  and  dictator.  He  lived  in 
peace  with  the  ordinary  residents,  but  took  it 
upon  himself  to  see  that  no  stranger  showed  his 
head  near  the  spot.  He  chased  the  crow  black- 
bird who  happened  to  fly  over  on  business  of  his 
own,  and  by  calls  for  help  brought  the  whole 
robin  population  about  the  ears  of  the  intruder. 
He  also  headed  the  mob  of  redbreasts  that  de- 
scended one  morning  upon  a  meek-looking  half- 
grown  kitten,  who  chanced  to  cast  its  innocent 
eyes  upon  a  robin  baby  under  the  trees  on  an- 
other side  of  the  house.  The  youngster  could 
fly  with  ease,  but  he  preferred  to  stay  on  the 


THE  GREAT-CREST.  227 

ground,  for  he  quickly  returned  there  when  I 
put  him  on  a  low  branch;  and  when  a  robin 
makes  up  his  mind,  arguments  are  useless. 
The  same  robin  bullied  the  red-headed  wood- 
pecker, and  flew  at  the  kingbird  when  he 
brought  his  young  family  up  to  taste  the  rasp- 
berries. 

One  visitor  there  was,  however,  to  the  fence 
and  the  locusts  whom  Master  Robin  did  not  mo- 
lest. When  a  prolonged,  incisive  "pu-eep"  in 
the  martial  and  inspiring  tone  of  the  great- 
crested  fly-catcher  broke  the  silence,  1  observed 
that  the  robin  always  had  plenty  of  his  own 
business  to  attend  to.  I  admire  this  beautiful 
bird,  perhaps  because  he  is  the  inveterate  en- 
emy of  the  house  sparrow,  and  almost  the  only 
one  who  actually  keeps  that  little  bully  in  his 
proper  place.  There  is  to  me  something  pleas- 
ing in  the  bearing  of  the  great-crest,  who, 
though  of  few  inches,  carries  himself  in  a  man- 
ner worthy  of  an  eagle.  Even  the  play  of  a 
pair  of  them  on  the  tops  of  the  tallest  dead  trees 
in  the  woods,  though  merry  enough  with  loud 
joyful  cries,  has  a  certain  dignity  and  circum- 
spection about  it  uncommon  in  so  small  a  bird. 

A  pair  of  great -crests  were  frequent  visitors 
to  the  fence,  where  they  were  usually  very  quiet. 
But  one  day  as  the  male  flew  over  from  the 
woods,  his  call  was  answered  by  a  loud-voiced 


228  FROM  MY  WINDOW. 

canary,  whose  cage  hung  all  summer  outside  the 
kitchen  door.  The  stranger  alighted  on  a  tree, 
apparently  astonished  to  be  challenged,  but  he 
replied  at  once.  The  canary,  who  was  out  of 
sight  on  the  other  side  of  the  cottage,  answered, 
and  the  droll  conversation  was  kept  up  for  some 
time ;  the  woods  bird  turning  his  head  this  way 
and  that,  eager  to  see  his  social  neighbor,  but 
unable,  of  course,  to  do  so. 

A  little  later  in  the  season,  when  baby  birds 
began  to  fly  about,  the  locust  group  became  even 
more  attractive.  Its  nearness  to  the  woods,  as 
already  mentioned,  made  it  convenient  for  forest 
birds,  and  its  seclusion  and  supply  of  food  were 
charms  they  could  not  resist.  First  of  the  fledg- 
lings to  appear  were  a  family  of  crow  blackbirds, 
four  of  them  with  their  parents.  These  are  the 
least  interesting  feathered  young  people  I  know, 
but  the  parents  are  among  the  most  devoted. 
They  keep  their  little  flock  together,  and  work 
hard  to  fill  their  mouths.  The  low  cry  is  husky, 
but  insistent,  and  they  flutter  their  wings  with 
great  energy,  holding  them  out  level  with  the 
back. 

After  berries  began  to  ripen,  the  woodpeckers 
came  to  call  on  us.  In  my  walk  in  the  woods  in 
the  morning,  I  frequently  brought  home  a 
branch  of  elder  with  two  or  three  clusters  of  ber- 
ries, which  I  hung  in  the  small  dead  tree.  In 


THE  DOWNY  BABY.  229 

that  way  I  drew  some  of  the  woods  birds  about. 
The  downy  woodpecker  was  one  of  my  first  call- 
ers. He  came  with  a  sharp  "chit-it-it,"  hung 
upon  the  clusters,  occasionally  head  down,  and 
picked  and  ate  as  long  as  he  liked.  The  vigi- 
lant robin  would  sometimes  fly  at  him,  and  he 
would  leave;  but  in  a  moment  back  he  came, 
and  went  on  with  his  repast.  When  the  care  of 
an  infant  fell  to  him,  he  brought  his  charge  to 
the  source  of  supplies.  A  farm  wagon  hap- 
pened to  stand  near  the  dead  tree,  and  on  this 
the  young  woodpecker  alighted,  and  stood 
humped  up  and  quiet  while  his  parent  went  to 
the  berries,  picked  several  for  himself,  and  then 
proceeded  to  feed  him.  This  young  person  was 
very  circumspect  in  his  behavior.  He  did  not 
flutter  nor  cry,  in  the  usual  bird-baby  manner, 
but  received  his  food  with  perfect  composure. 
Berries,  however,  seemed  to  be  new  to  him,  and 
he  did  not  appear  to  relish  them,  for  after  tast- 
ing two  or  three  he  flew  away.  In  spite  of  this 
he  came  again  the  next  day,  and  then  he  flew 
over  to  a  cluster  himself,  and  hung,  back  down, 
while  he  ate.  He  was  charming  with  his  sweet 
low  chatter,  and  very  lovely  in  plumage,  white 
as  snow,  with  dark  markings  clear  and  soft. 

One  of  the  prettiest  of  our  guests  was  a  young 
chestnut-sided  warbler.  He  looked  much  bigger 
than  his  papa,  as  warbler  babies  often  do ;  but 


230  FROM  MY  WINDOW. 

that  is  probably  because  the  young  bird  is  not 
accustomed  to  his  suit  of  feathers,  and  does  not 
know  how  to  manage  them.  Some  of  them  ap- 
pear like  a  child  in  his  grandfather's  coat.  The 
chestnut-sided  warbler  was  himself  an  attractive 
little  fellow,  with  a  generous  desire  to  help  in 
the  world's  work  pleasant  to  see  in  bird  or  man. 
After  becoming  greatly  interested  in  one  we  had 
seen  in  the  woods,  who  insisted  on  helping  a 
widowed  redstart  feed  her  youngster,  and  had 
almost  to  fight  the  little  dame  to  do  so,  we  found 
another  chestnut-sided  warbler  engaged  in  help- 
ing his  fellows.  Whether  it  were  the  same 
bird  we  could  not  tell;  we  certainly  discovered 
him  in  the  same  corner  of  the  woods.  This  lit- 
tle fellow  was  absorbed  in  the  care  of  an  infant 
more  than  twice  as  big  as  himself.  "  A  cowbird 
baby!"  will  exclaim  every  one  who  knows  the 
habit,  shameful  from  our  point  of  view,  of  the 
cowbird,  to  impose  her  infants  on  her  neighbors 
to  hatch  and  bring  up.  But  this  baby,  unfor- 
tunately for  the  "wisdom  of  the  wise,"  did  not 
resemble  the  cowbird  family. 

We  saw  the  strange  pair  several  times  in  the 
woods,  and  then  one  day,  as  I  sat  at  my  window 
trying  to  write,  I  heard  a  new  cry,  and  saw  a 
strange  bird  fly  to  the  fence.  He  was  very  rest- 
less, ran  along  the  top  board,  then  flew  to  an- 
other fence,  scrambled  along  a  few  feet,  raising 


THE  ADOPTED  INFANT.  231 

and  lowering  his  tail,  and  all  the  time  uttering 
a  husky  two-note  baby-cry.  While  I  was  strug- 
gling to  keep  him  in  the  field  of  my  glass  long 
enough  to  note  his  points,  he  went  to  the  dead 
tree,  when  the  philosophical  phoebe  sitting  there 
took  his  case  in  hand,  and  made  a  dash  for  him. 
The  stranger  flew  straight  over  the  house,  with 
his  assailant  in  close  chase.  But  in  a  moment  I 
heard  the  baby-cry  in  a  maple  beside  the  cottage, 
while  the  phoebe  calmly  returned  to  his  post  and 
gave  his  mind  again  to  his  flycatching.  The 
young  bird  was  not  in  range  from  the  window, 
but  when,  a  few  seconds  later,  I  heard  the  feed- 
ing-cry, I  could  no  longer  resist  the  desire  to  see 
him. 

I  forgot  my  caution,  and  rushed  out  of  the 
house,  for  I  suspected  that  this  uneasy  visitor 
was  the  chestnut-sided 's  adopted  charge.  So  I 
found  it.  There  stood  the  infant,  big  and 
clumsy  by  comparison,  calling,  calling,  forever 
calling ;  and  stretching  up  on  tiptoe,  as  it  were, 
to  reach  him  was  the  poor  little  warbler,  trying 
to  stop  his  mouth  by  stuffing  him.  The  foster- 
parent  lingered  as  if  he  were  weary,  and  his 
plumage  looked  as  if  he  had  not  dressed  it  for  a 
week.  But  the  insatiate  beggar  gave  him  no 
peace;  with  the  swallowing  of  the  last  morsel 
began  his  cry  for  more.  Again,  standing  within 
ten  feet  of  him,  I  noticed  the  young  bird's 


232  FROM  NY  WINDOW. 

points,  and  again  I  was  convinced  that  he  was 
not  a  cowbird  baby. 

The  curious  antics  of  a  solemn  kingbird, 
who  did  not  suspect  his  hidden  observer,  were 
droll  to  look  upon.  He  seemed  to  be  alone  on 
the  fence,  though  some  silent  spectator  may  have 
been  hidden  behind  the  leaves.  He  mounted 
suddenly  straight  up  in  the  air,  with  cries, 
twenty  feet  or  more,  then  soared  down  with  a 
beautiful  display  of  his  plumage.  This  he  did 
many  times  in  succession,  with  an  indescribably 
conscious  air,  and  at  last  he  dropped  behind 
some  tall  grass  in  the  pasture.  It  looked  ex- 
ceedingly like  "showing  off,"  and  who  could 
imagine  a  kingbird  in  that  role ! 

But  all  flourishes  were  over  when,  somewhat 
later,  he  brought  his  lovely  little  family  of  three 
to  the  fence  to  be  treated  to  berries.  It  was  in- 
teresting to  see  a  flycatcher  take  his  fruit  "on 
the  wing,"  as  it  were;  that  is,  fly  at  it,  seize  it, 
and  jerk  it  off  without  alighting.  The  phcebe 
picked  berries  in  the  same  way,  when  he  occa- 
sionally condescended  to  investigate  the  attrac- 
tion that  brought  so  many  strangers  into  his 
quiet  corner. 

The  young  kingbirds  were  sweet  and  chatty 
among  themselves,  and  they  decidedly  approved 
the  berries;  but  they  never  lost  sight  of  each 
other,  and  kept  close  together,  the  little  com- 


VISITORS  TO  THE  FENCE.  233 

pany  of  three,  as  I  have  seen  other  kingbirds  do. 
One  day  they  came  in  the  rain,  feathers  all  in 
locks,  showing  the  dark  color  next  the  skin, 
and  looking  like  beggars  in  "rags  and  tags," 
but  they  were  as  cheerful  and  as  clannish  as  ever. 

To  the  locust  group,  too,  came  the  red-headed 
woodpeckers ;  at  first  the  parents,  who  talked  to 
each  other  in  whispered  "kr-r-r-r's,"  and  carried 
off  many  a  sweet  morsel  to  their  family  in  the 
woods;  later,  one  youngster,  who  took  posses- 
sion of  the  fence  with  the  calm  assurance  of  his 
race,  and  when  I  left  the  place  had  apparently 
established  himself  there  for  the  season. 

Many  others  alighted  on  the  fence ;  the  junco, 
with  his  pretty  brown  bantling  and  his  charming 
little  trilling  song ;  the  crow  baby,  with  its  funny 
ways  and  queer  cry  of  "ma-a-a;  "  the  redstart, 
who 

"  Folds  and  unfolds  his  twinkling  tail  in  sport;  " 

the  flicker  mamma,  with  her  "merry  pitter-pat- 
ter "  and  her  baby  as  big  as  herself.  Even  the 
sapsucker  from  the  lawn  had  somehow  heard  the 
news  that  a  feast  was  spread  near  the  locusts, 
and  came  over  to  see. 

Birds  were  not  the  only  frequenters  of  the 
fence  and  the  berry  bushes.  There  were  squir- 
rels, gray  and  red,  a'nd  chipmunks,  who  sat  up 
pertly  on  a  post,  with  two  little  paws  laid  upon 
their  heart  in  theatrical  attitude,  as  who  should 


234  FEOM  MY  WINDOW. 

say,  "Be  still,  my  heart,"  while  they  looked  the 
country  over  to  see  if  any  lurking  member  of 
the  human  family  were  about.  The  red  squir- 
rels were  the  most  amusing,  for  they  were  very 
frolicsome,  indulging  in  mad  chases  over  and 
under  the  fence,  through  the  trees,  around  the 
trunks,  so  rapidly  that  they  resembled  a  red 
streak  more  than  little  beasts. 

One  squirrel  adopted  the  fence  as  his  regular 
highway,  and  the  high  post  of  the  farm  gate  as 
his  watch-tower.  He  often  sunned  himself,  lying 
on  his  face,  with  his  legs  and  his  tail  spread  out 
as  flat  as  if  he  had  been  smashed.  His  presence 
scared  the  birds  from  the  neighborhood,  and  I 
undertook  to  discourage  him.  I  went  out  one 
day  when  I  saw  him  near  the  fence.  The  squir- 
rel made  up  his  mind  to  pass  over  the  gate  and 
get  into  the  locust,  but  I  posted  myself  quite 
near,  and  he  did  not  like  to  pass  me.  Giving 
up  his  plan  is  no  part  of  a  squirrel's  intention, 
however,  and  every  moment  he  would  scramble 
up  a  few  feet  one  side  of  me,  with  the  design  of 
running  past  me.  As  soon  as  his  sharp  black 
eyes  showed  above  the  top  board  I  cried  "  Shoo !  " 
He  understood  my  motion,  and  doubtless  would 
if  I  had  said  "Scat!"  or  "Get  out!"  (What 
should  one  say  to  a  squirrel  ?) 

He  dashed  behind  his  barricade  and  disap- 
peared. But  he  did  not  "stay  put;"  in  two 


A  SQUIRREL  EPISODE.  235 

seconds  he  tried  it  again,  and  again  his  discour- 
aging reception  drove  him  back.  He  grew 
wary,  however,  and  pretty  soon  I  began  to  no- 
tice that  every  time  he  made  his  dash  to  the  top 
he  was  a  few  inches  nearer  the  gate,  which 
stretched  like  a  bridge  from  the  fence  to  the  lo- 
cust-tree, and  of  course  so  much  nearer  me.  At 
last,  advancing  thus  inch  by  inch,  he  came  up 
close  to  the  gate,  so  near  I  could  have  put  my 
hand  on  him,  —  that  is,  I  could  have  put  my 
hand  on  the  place  he  occupied,  for  he  did  not 
stay  to  be  caressed;  he  flew  across  the  gate, 
sprang  three  or  four  feet  into  the  tree,  and  was 
out  of  sight  before  I  could  lift  a  finger.  This 
passage  having  been  successfully  made,  he  felt 
that  he  was  safe,  and  could  afford  to  be  saucy. 
He  began  the  usual  scold.  Then  I  tossed  a  little 
stick  up  toward  him,  as  a  reminder  that  human 
power  is  not  limited  by  the  length  of  an  arm, 
and  he  subsided. 

Once  when  he  came  up  to  the  fence  top,  be- 
fore his  grand  dash,  I  laughed  at  him.  Strange 
to  say,  this  made  him  furious.  He  reviled  me 
vehemently.  No  doubt,  if  I  had  understood  his 
language,  I  should  have  been  covered  with  con- 
fusion, for  I  confess  that  he  could  make  a  very 
good  point  against  me.  What  business  had  I, 
an  interloper  in  his  dominion,  to  interfere  with 
his  rights,  or  to  say  whether  he  should  dine  off 
birds  or  berries  ? 


XXIII. 

THE   COMICAL   CROW   BABY. 

NOTHING  in  the  world  of  feathers  is  so  comi- 
cal as  a  crow  baby,  with  its  awkward  bows  and 
ungainly  hops,  its  tottering  steps  on  the  fence 
and  its  mincing,  tight-boot  sort  of  gait  on  the 
ground,  its  eager  fluttering  when  it  has  hopes  of 
food,  and  its  loud  and  unintermitting  demand 
for  the  same. 

My  window  overlooked  a  long  stretch  of  cattle 
pastures  and  meadows  still  uncut,  bounded  on 
one  side  by  woods,  and  in  the  middle  of  this 
valley  un visited  by  man,  the  crows  of  the  neigh- 
borhood established  a  training  school  for  their 
youngsters.  A  good  glass  let  me  in  as  unsus- 
pected audience,  and  I  had  views  of  many  in- 
teresting family  scenes,  supposed  by  the  wary 
parents  to  be  visible  only  to  the  cows  stolidly 
feeding  on  the  hillside.  In  this  way  I  had  all 
the  fun  and  none  of  the  trouble  of  the  training 
business. 

It  is  astonishing  how  completely  the  manner 
of  the  adult  crow  is  lacking  in  his  young  off- 
spring, whose  only  external  difference  is  the 


STRANGE  CRY  OF  THE  CROW.          237 

want  of  a  tail.  Must  we  then  conclude  that  the 
dignity  of  a  bird  depends  upon  the  length  of  his 
tail?  We  are  accustomed  to  regard  the  crow  as 
a  grave  and  solemn  personage  with  a  serious  role 
in  life;  and  indeed  life  is  such  a  constant  war- 
fare to  him  that  I  cannot  see  how  he  finds  any 
enjoyment  in  it.  Lowell  says  of  him  at  one 
period:  — 

"The  crow  is  very  comical  as  a  lover,  and  to 
hear  him  try  to  soften  his  croak  to  the  proper 
Saint  Preux  standard  has  something  the  effect 
of  a  Mississippi  boatman  quoting  Tennyson." 

If  he  is  droll  as  a  lover,  he  is  much  more  en- 
tertaining as  an  infant.  The  first  I  knew  of  the 
new  use  of  the  pasture,  I  heard  one  morning  a 
strange  cry.  It  was  loud  and  persistent,  and 
sounded  marvelously  like  "  Ma-a !  Ma-a !  "  Min- 
gled with  it  I  heard  the  vigorous  cries  of  crows. 

I  looked  over  into  the  pasture,  and  there  I 
first  saw  the  crow  baby,  nearly  as  big  and  black 
as  his  mamma,  but  with  no  tail  to  speak  of.  He 
sat  —  not  stood  —  on  the  rail  fence,  bawling  at 
the  top  of  his  hoarse  baby-voice,  "Ma!  Ma  ! 
Ma!"  and  as  he  grew  impatient  he  uttered  it 
faster  and  faster  and  louder  and  louder,  draw- 
ing in  his  breath  between  the  cries,  and  making 
it  more  like  "  Wah !  Wah !  "  Whenever  mamma 
flew  over  he  followed  her  movement  with  his 
eyes,  turning  his  head,  and  showing  an  eager, 


238  THE  COMICAL  CROW  BABY. 

almost  painful  interest,  till  some  one  took  pity 
on  him  and  fed  him.  As  he  saw  food  approach- 
ing his  voice  ran  up  several  tones  higher,  in 
laughable  imitation  of  a  human  baby  cry.  This 
note  is  of  course  the  promise  of  a  "caw,"  but 
the  a  is  flattened  to  the  sound  of  a  in  bar,  which 
makes  it  a  ludicrous  caricature  of  our  own  first 
utterances. 

But  sometimes  mamma  did  not  heed  the  cries, 
and  sailed  calmly  by,  alighting  a  few  rails  be- 
yond her  hungry  infant,  though  he  held  out  his 
fluttering  wings  in  the  bird-baby's  begging  way, 
exactly  as  does  a  young  warbler  who  would  n't 
be  a  mouthful  for  him.  Then  the  little  fellow 
would  start  up  on  unsteady  legs,  to  walk  the  rail 
to  reach  her,  balancing  himself  with  outspread 
wings,  and  when  he  got  beside  her,  put  his 
beak  to  hers  in  a  coaxing  way  that  I  don't  see 
how  any  mother  could  resist.  But  this  wise 
dame  had  evidently  hardened  her  heart.  She 
probably  wanted  him  to  learn  to  help  himself, 
for  she  dropped  to  the  ground,  and  went  wading 
about  in  the  wet  grass  and  mud,  and  at  length 
flew  off  without  giving  him  a  morsel.  Then  the 
disappointed  youngster  cuddled  up  to  a  brother 
crow  baby,  and  both  lifted  up  their  voices  and 
lamented  the  emptiness  of  the  cold,  cold  world. 

Perhaps  the  most  comical  performance  of  this 
clumsy  baby  was  his  way  of  alighting  on  a  fence 


TRYING   TO  LEARN.  239 

when  he  had  been  flying.  He  seized  the  board 
with  his  claws,  which  clung  for  dear  life,  while 
his  body  went  on  as  it  was  going,  with  the  re- 
sult almost  of  a  somersault.  He  tried  to  learn, 
however.  He  made  great  efforts  to  master 
the  vagaries  of  fences,  the  irregularities  of  the 
ground,  the  peculiarities  of  branches.  He  per- 
sistently walked  the  rail  fence,  though  he  had  to 
spread  both  wings  to  keep  his  balance.  Then 
he  climbed  to  the  top  of  the  rail  which  stood  up 
at  the  corners,  and  maintained  his  position  with 
great  effort,  but  never  gave  up  the  attempt. 

These  interesting  young  folks  dote  on  fences, 
after  they  get  used  to  them,  and  not  having 
learned  to  recognize  them  as  devices  of  the  en- 
emy, capable  of  concealing  a  trap  of  some  sort, 
they  will  come  quite  near  a  house  when  they  see 
no  one  about.  So  I,  behind  my  blind,  had  ex- 
cellent chance  to  watch  their  ways.  For  I  try 
to  keep  my  window  view  good  by  contenting 
myself  with  what  I  can  see  from  it,  and  never 
going  out  to  give  the  birds  a  notion  that  they 
must  look  out  for  visitors. 

One  'day  when  the  grass  had  been  cut  from 
the  meadow  before  the  house,  and  I  had  en- 
camped under  the  shade  of  a  big  maple  to  see 
how  the  kingbirds  were  coming  on  in  nesting,  I 
noticed  a  young  crow  walking  in  the  hot  stubble, 
trying  to  find  something  to  eat.  He  wandered 


240  THE  COMICAL  CROW  BABY. 

about  looking  in  vain  to  see  something  attrac- 
tive. A  robin  who  was  also  engaged  in  a  food- 
hunt  came  and  "took  his  measure,"  looking 
sharply  at  him  as  if  to  decide  whether  it  was  his 
duty  to  go  for  him.  He  plainly  recognized  the 
youthfulness  of  the  intruder,  for  after  a  mo- 
ment's study  he  passed  on,  attending  to  his  own 
business,  while  the  young  crow  stared  at  him  in 
open-mouthed  curiosity.  At  last  the  crow  baby 
picked  up  an  object  —  I  could  not  tell  what  — 
which  hung  from  his  beak  while  he  balanced 
the  probabilities  of  its  being  good,  aiding  his  de- 
liberations by  a  gentle  lift  of  the  wings  which 
looked  like  a  shrug  of  the  shoulders.  He  de- 
cided to  risk  it,  and  swallowed,  but  instantly 
choked  it  up,  and  for  some  time  shook  his  head 
as  if  to  get  rid  of  even  the  memory  of  it.  When, 
a  few  minutes  after  this  disastrous  experience, 
he  heard  another  baby  utter  the  cries  that  in- 
dicate being  fed,  it  seemed  to  suggest  to  him  an 
easier  way  of  getting  satisfaction  out  of  life. 
He  spread  his  wings,  flew  to  a  tree  and  began 
to  call. 

To  be  a  crow  mamma  is  no  sinecure.  My 
heart  went  out  to  the  poor  souls  who  must  be 
torn  between  anxiety  for  their  dear  "cantanker- 
ous "  offspring,  and  fear  of  their  deadly  enemy, 
man.  I  watched  with  deep  interest  their  method 
of  training.  One  day  I  saw  a  baby  get  an  ob- 


THE  YOUNG  CROW'S  LESSONS.         241 

ject  lesson  in  his  proper  attitude  toward  man- 
kind, in  this  way.  An  old  and  a  young  crow 
were  nearer  the  house  than  usual,  and  I  walked 
down  toward  the  fence  to  see  why.  The  instant 
my  head  appeared,  the  elder  flew  with  terrific 
outcry,  for  which  of  course  I  did  not  blame  the 
poor  creature,  since  mankind  has  proved  itself 
her  bitterest  foe.  The  infant  was  nearly  fright- 
ened to  death,  and  followed  as  quickly  as  his 
awkward  wings  would  carry  him.  I  do  not  like 
to  figure  as  "Rawhead  and  bloody -bones  "  in  the 
nursery  of  even  a  crow  baby,  so  I  tried  several 
times  to  redeem  the  bad  name  of  my  race.  But 
to  no  avail;  that  subtle  mamma  had  acquired 
her  wisdom  by  experience,  and  she  knew  me  as 
one  of  a  species  quite  capable  of  murdering  an 
innocent  crow  baby. 

I  was  interested  to  see  the  young  family  in 
the  pasture  taking  lessons  in  following,  or  flying 
in  a  flock.  There  was  great  excitement  and 
calling,  and  all  flew,  excepting  one,  who  stood 
quietly  on  a  big  stone  by  himself.  They  simply 
circled  around  and  alighted  again,  so  it  plainly 
was  only  an  exercise.  But  the  baby  who  did 
not  learn  the  lesson  and  follow,  was  punished 
by  one  of  the  grown-ups,  who  flew  directly 
against  him  on  the  return,  and  knocked  him  off 
his  perch ;  the  hint  was  taken,  and  the  next  time 
they  flew  no  one  stayed  behind. 


242  THE  COMICAL  CROW  BABY. 

Day  by  day  the  excitement  in  the  crow  world 
grew,  and  new  families  appeared  in  the  pasture 
as  fast  as  old  ones  got  out.  The  rails  of  the 
fence  were  always  occupied  by  young  ones  — 
though  never  more  than  five  or  six  at  a  time  — 
crying  and  shrieking  and  calling  for  "Ma-a!" 
and  old  ones  all  the  time  flying  about  half  dis- 
tracted, cawing  and  trying,  I  suppose,  to  enforce 
some  order  and  discipline  among  the  unruly 
rogues.  Order,  however,  was  quite  a  secondary 
consideration ;  the  pressing  duty  of  the  hour  was 
feeding.  A  crow  parent  on  a  foraging  expedi- 
tion is  a  most  unwelcome  visitor  to  the  farmer 
with  young  chickens,  or  the  bird-lover  interested 
in  the  fate  of  nestlings.  Yet  when  I  saw  the 
persecuted  creature  in  the  character  of  provider 
for  four  hungry  and  ever  clamorous  mouths,  to 
whose  wants  she  is  as  alive  as  we  are  to  the 
wants  of  our  babies,  I  took  a  new  view  of  crow 
depredations,  and  could  not  see  why  her  children 
should  not  have  a  chicken  or  a  bird  for  break- 
fast, as  well  as  ours.  Poor  hunted  crow,  against 
whom  every  man's  hand  is  raised!  She  feels, 
with  reason,  that  every  human  being  is  a  deadly 
enemy  thirsting  for  her  life,  that  every  cylinder 
pointed  upward  is  loaded  with  death,  that  every 
string  is  a  cruel  snare  to  entangle  and  maim 
her,  —  yet  whose  offspring,  dear  as  ours  to  us, 
clamor  for  food.  How  should  she  know  that  it 


TWO  SIDES  TO  THE  CROW  QUESTION.    243 

is  wrong  to  eat  chickens;  or  that  robin  babies 
were  made  to  live  and  grow  up,  and  crow  babies 
to  die  of  starvation  ?  The  farmer  ignores  the  mil- 
lions of  insects  she  destroys,  and  shoots  her  for 
the  one  chicken  she  takes,  though  she  has  been 
amply  proved  to  be  one  of  his  most  valuable  ser- 
vants. The  kingbird  and  the  oriole  worry  her 
life  out  of  her  because  her  babies  like  eggs  —  as 
who  does  not! 

In  fact,  there  are,  emphatically,  two  sides  to 
the  crow  question,  and  I  take  the  side  of  the 
crow. 


XXIV. 

A  MIDSUMMER   WOOING. 

THE  "sweet  June  days  "  had  passed,  and  bird 
nesting  was  nearly  at  an  end.  Woods  and  fields 
were  bubbling  over  with  young  bird  notes,  and 
the  pretty  cradles  on  tree  and  shrub  were  empty 
and  deserted.  A  few  motherly  souls,  it  is  true, 
were  still  occupied  with  their  second  broods, 
but,  in  general,  feathered  families  were  complete, 
and  the  parents  were  busy  training  their  little 
folk  for  life. 

One  bird,  however,  the  charming,  sweet- 
voiced  goldfinch, 

"All  black  and  gold,  a  flame  of  fire," 

still  held  aloof,  as  is  his  custom.  He  does  not 
follow  the  fashion  of  his  fellows ;  he  resists  the 
allurements  of  the  nesting  month;  he  waits. 
Whether  it  be  for  a  late-coming  insect  necessary 
to  the  welfare  of  his  nestlings,  or  for  the  thistle 
silk  which  alone  makes  fit  cushion  for  his  deli- 
cate spouse  and  her  "wee  babies,"  opinions  differ. 
But  though  goldfinch  nests  were  not  set  up, 
goldfinch  wooing  went  on  with  enthusiasm;  the 


BIRD  MYSTERIES.  245 

summer  air  rang  with  sweetest  song,  and  the 
graceful  wavelike  flight  charmed  us  from  morn- 
ing till  night.  The  courtship  of  the  bird  of  July 
is  a  beautiful  sight.  He  is  at  all  times  pecu- 
liarly joyous,  but  at  this  season  his  little  body 
seems  hardly  able  to  contain  him ;  so  great  is  his 
rapture,  indeed,  that  it  infects  and  inspires  the 
most  matter-of-fact  student.  Our  bird -loving 
poet  Celia  Thaxter  must  have  seen  him  in  loverly 
mood  when  she  thus  addressed  him :  — 

"  Where  do  you  hide  such  a  store  of  delight, 

O  delicate  creature,  tiny  and  slender, 
Like  a  mellow  morning-  sunbeam  bright, 
Overflowing  with  music  tender  ?  " 

At  all  hours  of  these  enchanted  days,  whether 
fair  or  foul,  the  winsome  little  fellows  were  fly- 
ing hither  and  thither,  singing  and  calling  in 
ecstatic  tones,  bounding  through  the  air,  and 
hardly  pausing  long  enough  to  eat.  July  was 
fast  slipping  away  when  the  excitement  deep- 
ened and  matters  grew  more  serious.  Then  the 
observer,  if  he  were  wary,  might  catch  occa- 
sional glimpses  of  puzzling  scenes,  mysteries  of 
bird  life  that  could  not  be  unraveled  because  he 
did  not  see  the  whole. 

At  one  time  the  student  came  upon  a  scene 
like  this:  Two  or  three  of  the  little  dames  in 
olive  and  gold  hopping  about  on  an  evergreen 
tree,  ostensibly  eating,  calling,  in  their  enticing 


246  A  MIDSUMMER  WOOING. 

voices,  "sw-e-e-t!"  and  to  all  appearance  un- 
conscious of  the  presence  of  two  of  their  bright 
young  wooers,  sitting  in  perfect  silence  on  an 
upper  branch.  Suddenly  from  this  happy  party 
one  of  the  damsels  flew,  when  instantly  one  of 
the  black-winged  suitors  flashed  out  in  pursuit. 
On  she  went,  flying  madly,  encircled  one  tree, 
dashed  to  another,  and  around  that,  passed  up 
and  down,  here  and  there,  this  way  and  that, 
but  everywhere  with  her  follower  close  after  her, 
singing  at  the  top  of  his  voice,  till  they  disap- 
peared in  the  distance. 

Can  the  goldfinch  wooing  be  a  sort  of  Co- 
manche  affair?  Is  the  little  bride  won  by  force? 
Or  is  she,  perchance,  like  some  of  her  sisters 
of  larger  growth,  who  require  a  "scene"  of 
some  sort  to  make  them  "name  the  day"? 

Again,  attracted  by  loud  eager  singing,  the 
student  found  a  pair  who  were  apparently  fight- 
ing, —  the  peaceful  goldfinch !  They  flew  up  close 
together,  they  almost  clinched,  then  flew  away 
to  a  group  of  trees,  under,  over,  around,  be- 
tween, through,  and  beyond  they  went,  never 
six  inches  apart,  and  he  singing  furiously  all  the 
time.  At  last,  just  as  the  looker-on  expected  to 
see  them  grapple,  they  calmly  alighted  on  a  tree 
eight  or  ten  feet  from  each  other.  Nothing  but 
a  frolic,  obviously ! 

Another    curious   performance  of   this    July" 


LINGERING  LOVE  AFFAIRS.  247 

wooing  was  several  times  noted.  Hearing  a 
strange  and  unfamiliar  cry,  in  a  tone  of  distress, 
I  drew  cautiously  near,  and  found,  on  a  low 
branch,  one  of  the  goldfinch  maidens,  uttering 
the  plaintive  notes,  which,  by  the  way,  were 
afterwards  very  common  about  the  nests.  She 
held  in  her  beak  something  which  might  be  a 
tiny  green  worm,  or  a  bit  of  nesting  material, 
and  she  called  constantly,  looking  about  this 
way  and  that,  as  if  seeking  some  one.  After  a 
while  a  male  goldfinch  appeared  on  the  next  tree, 
but  he  did  not  act  in  the  least  as  if  invited  by 
her  call.  He  seemed  merely  to  be  interested  as 
any  bird  would  be  by  her  evident  excitement. 
He  watched  her  calmly,  but  did  not  offer  to 
follow  when  at  last  she  flew. 

Time,  true  to  his  reputation,  was  hurrying 
away  even  these  sweet  summer  days,  and  still 
the  love  affairs  of  our  little  beauties  seemed  no 
nearer  settlement  than  at  first.  In  the  opinion 
of  impatient  observers,  their  wooing  was  as  long 
drawn  out  as  that  of  Augustus  and  Araminta 
in  an  old-fashioned  three-volume  novel.  Their 
manners,  too,  ludicrously  suggested  the  beha- 
vior of  the  bigger  pair ;  first  he  would  follow  her 
about,  sing  to  her,  parade  himself,  and  show  off ; 
then  she  coquetted,  and  charmed  him  with  her 
bewitching  and  altogether  indescribable  call, 
"sw-e-e-t."  Then  they  were  off  in  a  whirl  of 


248  A  MIDSUMMER  WOOING. 

excitement  together,  flitting  hither  and  thither, 
singing  and  dancing  through  the  air,  life  show- 
ing its  rosiest  hue. 

All  things  come  to  an  end  —  in  time.  By  the 
middle  of  the  month  the  ecstasies  of  goldfinch 
youth  were  toned  down,  and  the  presence  of 
dainty  nests  here  and  there  proved  that  madam 
at  least  had  settled  to  work,  making  preparation 
for  her  long,  patient  brooding. 

The  tall  grass  in  the  meadow  in  front  of  the 
house  was  about  this  time  laid  low;  nodding 
daisies,  —  white  and  yellow,  —  plumy  meadow- 
grass  and  plain  timothy,  devil's  paintbrush  and 
soft  purple  grass  flowers,  alike  lay  in  long  rows 
dying  on  the  ground.  Delighted  at  last  to  pos- 
sess the  places  so  long  tabooed  to  us  by  the 
heavy  crop,  my  comrade  and  I  went  out  the 
next  morning  on  discoveries  bent.  The  nook  in 
which  we  rested  after  our  walk  —  she  on  the 
fresh  sweet  hay  in  the  broad  sunshine,  and  I 
in  the  shade  close  by  —  offered  a  rare  combina- 
tion of  seclusion  with  perfect  security.  It  was 
within  call  from  the  veranda,  yet  completely 
hidden  from  it  by  a  dense  clump  of  ever- 
greens. 

We  had  hardly  settled  ourselves  when  we  no- 
ticed three  lively  goldfinches  frolicking  about 
the  top  of  a  tall  maple-tree  not  far  off.  While 
we  idly  speculated  about  them,  wondering  if 


"HAVING  EYES  THEY  SEE  NOT."      249 

they  had  no  mates,  and  if  the  goldfinches  were 
not  going  to  build  this  year,  the  eyes  of  my 
friend,  who  was  lying  on  the  ground,  fell  upon 
the  nest.  It  was  near  the  end  of  a  lower  branch 
of  the  maple,  ten  or  twelve  feet  from  the  ground, 
and  the  little  dame  was  at  that  moment  working 
upon  it.  She  was  so  deeply  absorbed  in  her 
occupation  that  she  did  not  even  notice  us,  and 
we  studied  her  movements  with  interest,  till  the 
haymakers  came  with  wagon  and  oxen,  and  much 
talking  and  shouting,  to  gather  up  their  fra- 
grant loads,  which  on  that  side  of  the  field  stood 
in  small  stacks  all  ready. 

Once  again,  in  spite  of  long  experience,  I  was 
amazed  to  see  how  deaf  and  blind  are  people  to 
what  goes  on  about  them.  "We  see  only  that 
which  concerns  us,"  says  some  one,  and  since 
the  farmer,  with  whole  mind  bent  upon  making 
a  firm  and  symmetrical  load,  did  not  concern 
himself  with  bird  affairs,  goldfinch  work  went 
on  without  hindrance.  The  half -loaded  wagon 
paused  under  the  chosen  branch,  where  the  man 
could  have  laid  his  hand  upon  the  nest,  but  the 
small  builder  went  in  and  out,  calling  and  flut- 
tering around  as  freely  as  if  he  were  not  there. 
As  a  matter  of  fact  he  was  not,  for  though  his 
body  was  near,  he  was  down  in  the  hay,  and  he 
never  heard  or  saw  the  bird. 

We  kept  watch  of  the  fateful  branch,  ready 


250  A  MIDSUMMER    WOOING. 

to  protect  it  if  necessary,  till  the  train  moved 
off,  and  then  we  went  home  congratulating  our- 
selves on  possessing  the  goldfinch's  precious 
secret,  planning  to  spend  a  part  of  every  morn- 
ing in  studying  her  ways. 

"Man  proposes,"  but  many  things  "dispose." 
The  next  morning  revealed  another  tragedy. 
The  dainty  nest,  so  laboriously  built,  was  found 
a  wreck,  the  whole  of  one  side  pulled  out  and 
hanging  over  the  branch,  while  the  soft  cushion 
of  silky  white  thistle-down,  an  inch  thick,  lay 
on  the  grass  below.  The  culprit  we  could  not 
discover,  for  he  had  left  no  trace.  It  might 
be  a  squirrel ;  it  certainly  looked  like  the  work 
of  his  strong  claws ;  but,  on  the  other  hand,  it 
might  be  the  sparrow-hawk  who  had  made  the 
meadow  his  daily  hunting-ground  since  the  mys- 
terious disaster  to  the  kingbird's  nest  had  de- 
prived us  of  the  police  services  of  that  vigilant 
bird.  Probably  a  squirrel  was  the  culprit,  for 
the  hawk  appeared  only  after  the  grass  was  cut, 
and  grasshoppers  and  other  insects  were  left 
without  shelter,  and  he  seemed  to  give  his  entire 
attention  to  the  grass  at  the  foot  of  the  flagpole 
on  which  he  always  perched. 

Whoever  was  guilty  of  the  cruel  deed,  it 
added  one  more  to  the  list  of  ravaged  nests,  and 
of  all  that  we  watched  that  summer  exactly  half 
had  been  broken  up  or  destroyed. 


BETTER  HIDDEN  THE  SECOND  TIME.    251 

I  am  happy  to  say  that  the  little  pair  were 
not  utterly  discouraged,  for  a  day  or  two  later 
we  found  the  provident  mistress  carefully  draw- 
ing out  of  the  ruin  some  of  the  material  she  had 
woven  into  it,  and  carrying  it  away,  doubtless 
to  add  to  a  fresh  nest.  But  she  had  this  time 
chosen  a  more  secluded  site,  that  we  were  unable 
to  discover.  I  hope  she  did  not  credit  us  with 
her  disaster. 


XXV. 

A   PLUM-TREE   ROMANCE. 

IT  was  just  after  the  catastrophe  of  the  last 
chapter  when  a  pair  of  goldfinches,  whose  pretty 
pastoral  I  hoped  to  watch,  had  been  robbed  and 
driven  from  their  home  in  a  maple -tree  that  the 
plum-tree  romance  began.  Grieving  for  their 
sorrow  as  well  as  for  my  loss,  I  turned  my  steps 
toward  the  farmhouse,  intending  to  devote  part 
of  the  day  to  the  baby  crows,  who  were  enliven- 
ing the  pasture  with  their  droll  cries  and  droller 
actions.  But  the  crow  family  had  the  pasture 
to  themselves  that  morning,  for  in  passing 
through  the  orchard,  looking,  as  always,  for  in- 
dications of  feathered  life,  I  suddenly  saw  a  new 
nest  in  the  top  of  a  plum-tree,  and  my  spirits 
rose  instantly  when  I  noticed  that  the  busy  little 
architect,  at  that  moment  working  upon  it,  was 
a  goldfinch. 

What  an  unfortunate  place  she  had  chosen, 
was  my  first  thought.  A  young  tree,  a  mere 
sapling,  not  more  than  eight  feet  high,  close 
beside  the  regular  farm  road,  where  men,  and 
worse,  two  nest-robbing  boys,  passed  forty  times 


A  BEWITCHING  PAIE.  253 

a  day.  Would  the  trim  little  matron,  now  so 
happy  in  her  plans,  have  any  chance  of  bringing 
up  a  brood  there  in  plain  sight,  where,  if  the 
roving  eyes  of  those  youngsters  happened  to  fall 
upon  her  nest,  peace  would  take  its  departure 
even  if  calamity  did  not  overtake  her? 

Looking  all  about,  to  make  sure  that  no  one 
was  in  sight,  I  seated  myself  to  make  the  ac- 
quaintance of  my  new  neighbor.  My  whole 
study  of  the  life  in  and  around  the  plum-tree, 
carried  on  for  the  next  two  weeks,  was  of  a 
spasmodic  order,  for  I  had  always  to  take  care 
that  no  spies  were  about  before  I  dared  even 
look  toward  the  orchard.  One  glimpse  of  me 
in  the  neighborhood  would  have  disclosed  their 
secret  to  the  sharp  boys  who  knew  my  ways. 

The  little  dame  was  bewitching  in  her  man- 
ner, and  her  handsome  young  spouse  the  most 
devoted  consort  I  ever  saw  in  feathers,  or  out  of 
them,  I  may  say.  Although  she  alone  built  the 
nest,  he  was  her  constant  attendant,  and  they 
always  made  their  appearance  together.  He 
dropped  into  a  taller  tree  —  an  apple  near  by 
—  while  she,  with  her  beak  full  of  materials, 
alighted  on  the  lowest  branch  of  the  plum,  and 
hopped  gayly  from  twig  to  twig,  as  though  they 
were  steps,  up  to  the  sky  parlor  where  she  had 
established  her  homestead.  Then  she  went 
busily  to  work  to  adjust  the  new  matter,  while 


254  A  PLUM-TREE  ROMANCE. 

he  waited  patiently  during  the  ten  or  fifteen 
minutes  she  thus  occupied.  Sometimes  he 
seemed  to  wonder  what  she  could  be  about  all 
this  time,  for  he  came  and  alighted  beside  her, 
staying  only  an  instant,  and  then  flying  with 
the  evident  expectation  that  she  would  follow. 
Usually,  however,  he  remained  quietly  on  guard 
till  she  left  the  nest  with  her  joyful  call,  when 
he  joined  her,  and  away  they  went  together,  cry- 
ing, "te-o-tum,  te!  te!"  till  out  of  sight  and 
hearing.  There  was  a  joyousness  of  manner  in 
this  pair  that  gave  a  festive  air  to  even  so  pro- 
saic a  performance  as  going  for  food.  The  source 
of  supplies,  as  I  soon  discovered,  was  a  bit  of 
neglected  ground  between  a  buckwheat  patch 
and  a  barn,  where  grass  and  weeds  of  several 
sorts  flourished.  Here  each  bird  pulled  down 
by  its  weight  a  stalk  of  meadow  or  other  grass, 
and  spent  some  time  feasting  upon  its  seeds. 

But  madam  was  a  timid  little  soul;  she  re- 
minded me  constantly  of  some  bigger  folk  I 
have  known.  She  wanted  her  gay  cavalier  al- 
ways within  call,  and  he  responded  to  her  de- 
mands nobly,  becoming  more  domestic  than  one 
would  imagine  possible  for  such  a  restless,  light- 
hearted  sprite.  After  the  young  house-mistress 
settled  herself  to  her  sitting,  she  often  lifted  her 
head  above  the  edge  of  her  nest,  and  uttered  a 
strangely  thrilling  and  appealing  cry,  which  I 


CHARMING  MANNERS.  255 

think  is  only  heard  in  the  nesting-time.  He 
always  replied  instantly,  in  tenderest  tones,  and 
came  at  once,  sometimes  from  the  other  side  of 
the  orchard,  singing  as  he  flew,  and  perched  in 
the  apple  -  tree.  If  she  wanted  his  escort  to 
lunch,  she  joined  him  there,  and  after  exchan- 
ging a  few  low  remarks,  they  departed  together. 
Occasionally,  however,  she  seemed  to  be  merely 
nervous,  perhaps  about  some  other  bird  who  she 
fancied  might  be  troublesome,  though,  in  gen- 
eral, neither  of  the  pair  paid  the  slightest  atten- 
tion to  birds  who  came  about,  even  upon  their 
own  little  tree. 

Often  when  the  goldfinch  came  in  answer  to 
this  call  of  his  love,  he  flew  around,  at  some 
height  above  the  tree,  in  a  circle  of  thirty  or 
forty  feet  diameter,  apparently  to  search  out  any 
enemy  who  might  be  annoying  her.  If  he  saw 
a  bird,  he  drove  him  off,  though  in*  a  perfunc- 
tory manner,  as  if  it  were  done  merely  in  def- 
erence to  his  lady's  wishes,  and  not  from  any 
suspicion  or  jealousy.  On  these  occasions,  too, 
he  came  quite  near  me,  stood  fearless  and  calm, 
and  studied  me  most  sharply,  doubtless  to  see  if 
my  intentions  were  innocent.  Of  course  I  looked 
as  amiable  and  harmless  as  possible,  and  in  a 
moment  he  decided  that  I  was  not  dangerous, 
made  some  quiet  remark  to  his  fussy  little  part- 
ner, and  flew  away. 


256  A  PLUM-TREE  ROMANCE. 

Sometimes  this  conduct  did  not  reassure  the 
uneasy  bird,  and  she  called  again.  Then  he 
brought  some  tidbit  in  his  beak,  went  to  the 
edge  of  the  nest,  and  fed  her.  Then  she  was 
pacified ;  but  do  not  mistake  her,  it  was  not  hun- 
ger that  prompted  her  actions;  when  she  was 
hungry,  she  openly  left  her  nest  and  went  for 
food.  It  was,  as  I  am  convinced,  the  longing 
desire  to  know  that  he  was  near  her,  that  he 
was  still  anxious  to  serve  her,  that  he  had  not 
forgotten  her  in  her  long  absence  from  his  side. 
This  may  sound  a  little  fanciful  to  one  who  has 
not  studied  birds  closely,  but  she  was  so  "hu- 
man "  in  all  her  actions  that  I  feel  justified  in 
judging  of  her  motives  exactly  as  I  should  judge 
had  she  measured  five  feet  instead  of  five  inches, 
and  worn  silk  instead  of  feathers. 

The  goldfinch  need  not  have  worried  about 
her  mate,  for  he  spent  most  of  his  time  within 
a  few  feet  of  her,  and  more  absolutely  loyal 
one  could  not  be.  His  most  common  perch  was 
a  neighboring  tree,  though  in  a  heavy  beating 
rain  he  frequently  crouched  on  the  lowest  branch 
of  the  plum  itself.  Now  and  then  he  rested  on 
a  pile  of  boards  beside  the  farm  road  already 
spoken  of,  and  again  he  took  his  post  on  a  very 
tall  ash,  with  only  a  few  limbs  at  the  top,  where 
his  body  looked  like  a  dot  against  the  blue, 
and  he  could  oversee  the  whole  country  around. 


RAPTUROUS  SINGING.  257 

Wherever  he  might  be,  he  sat  all  puffed  out, 
silent  and  motionless,  evidently  just  waiting. 
Sometimes  he  took  occasion  to  plume  himself 
very  carefully,  oftener  he  did  nothing,  but  held 
himself  in  readiness  to  answer  any  call  from  the 
plum-tree,  and  to  accompany  the  sitter  out  to 
dinner. 

This  bird  was  an  enchanting  singer.  During 
courtship,  and  while  his  mate  was  sitting,  he 
often  poured  out  a  song  that  was  nothing  less 
than  an  ecstasy.  It  was  delivered  on  the  wing, 
and  not  in  his  usual  wave-like  manner  of  flight, 
but  sailing  slowly  around  and  around,  very  much 
as  a  bobolink  does,  singing  rapturously,  without 
pause  or  break.  The  quality  of  the  music,  too, 
was  strikingly  like  bobolink  notes,  and  the  whole 
performance  was  exquisite. 

The  little  sitter  soon  became  accustomed  to 
my  presence.  When  out  of  her  nest,  she  some- 
times came  to  the  tree  over  my  head,  and  an- 
swered when  I  spoke  to  her.  In  this  way  we 
carried  on  quite  a  long  conversation,  I  imitating, 
so  far  as  I  was  able,  her  own  charming  "sweet," 
and  she  replying  in  varied  utterances,  which, 
alas !  were  Greek  to  me. 

I  longed  to  watch  the  lovely  and  loving  pair 
through  their  nesting;  to  see  their  rapture  over 
their  nestlings,  their  tender  care  and  training, 
and  the  first  flight  of  the  goldfinch  babies.  But 


258  A  PLUM-TREE  ROMANCE. 

the  inexorable  task-master  of  us  all,  who  pro- 
verbially "waits  for  no  man,"  hurried  off  these 
last  precious  days  of  July  with  painful  eager- 
ness, and  thrust  before  me  the  first  of  August, 
with  the  hot  and  dusty  journey  set  down  for  that 
day,  long  before  I  was  ready  for  it. 

So  I  did  not  see  the  end  of  their  love  and 
labor  myself,  but  the  bird's  wisdom  in  the  selec- 
tion of  a  site  for  her  nursery  was  proved  to  be 
greater  than  mine,  who  had  ventured  to  criticise 
her,  by  the  fact  that  the  nest,  as  I  have  been 
assured,  escaped  the  young  eyes  of  the  neigh- 
borhood, and  turned  out  its  full  complement  of 
birdlings  to  add  to  next  summer's  beauty  and 
song. 


XXVI. 

SOLITARY   THE   THRUSH. 

"  Solitary  the  thrush, 
The  hermit,  withdrawn  to  himself, 
Sings  by  himself  a  song." 

THUS  says  the  poet,  with  no  less  truth  than 
beauty.  No  description  could  better  express 
the  spirit  of  the  bird,  the  retiring  habit  and  the 
love  of  quiet  for  which  not  alone  the  hermit,  but 
the  three  famous  singers  of  the  thrush  family 
are  remarkable.  We  should  indeed  be  shocked 
were  it  otherwise,  for  there  is  an  indefinable 
quality  in  the  tones  of  this  trio,  the  hermit, 
wood,  and  tawny,  that  stirs  the  soul  to  its 
depths,  and  one  can  hardly  conceive  of  them  as 
mingling  their  notes  with  other  singers,  or  be- 
coming in  any  way  familiar.  In  this  peculiar 
power  no  bird-voice  in  our  part  of  the  world  can 
compare  with  theirs.  The  brown  thrush  ranks 
high  as  a  musician,  the  mocking-bird  leads  the 
world,  in  the  opinion  of  its  lovers,  and  the  win- 
ter wren  thrills  one  to  the  heart.  Yet  no  bird 
song  so  moves  the  spirit,  no  other  —  it  seems  to 
me  —  so  intoxicates  its  hearer  with  rapture,  as 


260  SOLITARY  THE  THRUSH. 

the  solemn  chant  of  "the  hermit  withdrawn  to 
himself." 

"Whenever a  man  hears  it,"  says  our  devoted 
lover  of  Nature,  Thoreau,  "he  is  young,  and 
Nature  is  in  her  spring;  wherever  he  hears  it 
there  is  a  new  world,  and  the  gates  of  heaven 
are  not  shut  against  him." 

One  might  quote  pages  of  rhapsody  from  poets 
and  prose  writers,  yet  to  him  who  has  not  drunk 
of  the  enchantment,  they  would  be  but  words ; 
they  would  touch  no  chord  that  had  not  already 
been  thrilled  by  the  marvelous  strain  itself. 

My  first  acquaintance  in  the  beautiful  family 
was  the  wood-thrush,  and  the  study  of  his  charms 
of  voice  and  character  filled  me  with  love  for 
the  whole  bird  tribe.  He  frequented  the  places 
I  also  preferred,  the  quiet  nooks  and  out  of  the 
way  corners  of  a  large  city  park.  At  that  time 
I  thought  no  bird  note  on  earth  could  equal  his ; 
but  a  year  or  two  later,  on  the  shore  of  Lake 
George,  I  fell  under  the  magical  sway  of  another 
voice,  whose  few  notes  were  exceedingly  simple 
in  arrangement,  but  full  of  the  strangely  thrill- 
ing power  characteristic  of  the  thrush  family. 

Four  years  passed,  at  first  in  search  of  the 
owner  of  the  "wandering  voice"  that  had  be- 
witched me,  and  when  I  had  found  it  to  be  the 
tawny  thrush  or  veery,  in  study  of  the  attractive 
singer  himself,  which  made  me  an  enthusiastic 


A  DISAPPOINTING  SEARCH.  261 

lover  of  him  also.  But  the  "shy  and  hidden" 
bird,  the  hermit,  enthroned  by  those  who  know 
him  far  above  the  others,  I  had  rarely  seen  and 
never  clearly  heard.  Far-off  snatches  I  had 
gathered,  a  few  of  the  louder  notes  had  reached 
me  from  distant  woods,  or  from  far  up  the  moun- 
tain side ;  but  I  had  never  been  satisfied. 

There  appeared  almost  a  fatality  about  my 
hearing  this  bird.  No  matter  how  common  his 
song  in  the  neighborhood,  110  sooner  did  I  go 
there  than  he  retired  to  the  secluded  recesses  of 
his  choice.  He  always  had  "  just  been  singing," 
but  had  mysteriously  stopped.  My  search  was 
much  longer  than,  and  quite  as  disappointing 
as  Mr.  Burroughs 's  search  through  English  lanes 
for  a  singing  nightingale. 

Last  spring  one  of  the  strongest  attractions 
that  drew  me  to  a  lovely  spot  in  Northern  New 
York  was  the  assurance  that  the  hermit  was  a 
constant  visitor.  I  went,  and  the  same  old 
story  met  me.  Before  this  year  the  hermit  had 
always  been  with  them.  The  song  of  the  veery 
was  my  morning  and  evening  inspiration,  but 
his  shy  brother  had  apparently  taken  his  depar- 
ture for  parts  unknown. 

"We  will  go  to  Sunset  Hill,"  said  my  friend. 
"We  always  hear  them  there  at  sunset." 

That  evening  after  an  early  tea,  we  started  for 
the  promised  land.  The  single-file  procession 


262  SOLITARY  THE  THRUSH. 

through  the  charming  wood  paths  consisted  of 
our  host  as  protector  on  the  return  in  the  dark, 
the  big  dog  —  his  mistress's  body-guard  —  his 
mistress,  an  enthusiastic  bird-lover,  and  myself. 

The  road  was  all  the  way  through  the  woods, 
then  lovely  with  the  glow  of  the  western  sun, 
which  reached  far  under  the  branches,  gilded 
the  trunks  of  the  trees,  and  made  a  fresh  pic- 
ture at  every  turn.  At  the  further  side  of  the 
woods  was  a  grass-covered  hill  which  we  as- 
cended, eager  to  treat  our  eyes  to  the  sunset, 
and  our  ears  to  the  hermit  songs.  The  sun  went 
down  serenely,  without  a  cloud  to  reflect  his 
glory,  but  the  whole  pleasant  country  at  our  feet 
was  illuminated  by  his  parting  rays. 

And  hark!  a  hermit  began  "air-o-ee  !  "  In- 
stantly everything  else  was  forgotten,  although 
the  bird  was  far  away. 

"He  will  come  nearer,"  whispered  my  com- 
rade, and  we  waited  in  silence.  Several  singers 
were  within  hearing,  but  all  at  a  tantalizing  re- 
moteness that  allowed  us  to  hear  the  louder 
notes,  and  constantly  to  realize  what  we  were 
losing. 

We  lingered,  loath  to  abandon  hope,  till  the 
deepening  shadows  reminded  us  of  the  woods  to 
be  passed  through;  but  no  bird  came  nearer 
than  that  maddening  distance.  In  despair  we 
turned  our  faces  homeward  at  last;  several 


A    WORLD  FULL  OF  BABIES.  263 

times  on  the  way  we  paused,  lured  by  an  ec- 
static note,  but  every  one  too  far  off  to  be  com- 
pletely heard. 

In  our  quiet  walk  back  through  the  dark 
woods  I  accepted  my  evident  fate,  that  I  was 
not  to  be  blessed  with  hermit  music  this  season ; 
but  I  made  a  private  resolve  to  find  next  year  a 
" hermit  neighborhood,"  where  birds  should  be 
warranted  to  sing,  if  I  had  to  take  a  tent  and 
camp  out  in  a  swamp. 

June  passed  away  in  delightful  bird -study, 
and  July  followed  quickly.  Nests  and  songs  in 
plenty  rewarded  our  search.  Every  day  had 
been  full.  Nothing  had  been  wanting  to  fill  our 
cup  of  content,  except  the  longed-for  song  of  the 
hermit;  and  I  had  been  so  absorbed  I  had  al- 
most ceased  to  regret  it. 

With  the  last  days  of  July  everything  was 
changed  about  us.  The  world  was  full  of  bird 
babies.  Infant  voices  rang  out  from  every 
tangle;  flutters  of  baby  wings  stirred  every 
bush;  the  woods  echoed  to  anxious  "pips,"  and 
"smacks,  "and  "quits,"  of  uneasy  parents  work- 
ing for  dear  life.  We  had  been  so  occupied 
with  our  study  of  these  charming  youngsters, 
that  we  bethought  ourselves,  only  as  one  after 
another  strange  warbler  appeared  upon  the  scene, 
that  migrating  time  had  arrived,  the  wonderful 
procession  to  the  summer-land  had  begun. 


264  SOLITARY  THE  THRUSH. 

This,  alas !  I  could  not  stay  to  see.  And  if 
one  must  go,  it  were  better  to  take  leave  before 
getting  entangled  in  the  toils  of  the  warblers, 
to  be  driven  wild  by  the  numberless  shades  of 
yellow  and  olive,  to  go  frantic  over  stripes  and 
spots,  and  bars,  and  to  wear  out  patience  and 
the  Manual,  trying  to  discover  what  particular 
combination  of  Latin  syllables  scientists  have 
bestowed  upon  this  or  that  flitting  atom  in  feath- 
ers. Before  the  student  is  out  of  bed,  a  new 
warbler-note  will  distract  her;  in  the  twilight 
some  tiny  bird  will  fly  over  her  head  with  an  un- 
familiar twitter ;  each  and  every  one  will  rouse 
her  to  eager  desire  to  see  it,  to  name  it. 

Why  have  we  such  a  rage  for  labeling  and 
cataloguing  the  beautiful  things  of  Nature? 
Why  can  I  not  delight  in  a  bird  or  flower,  know- 
ing it  by  what  it  is  to  me,  without  longing  to 
know  what  it  has  been  to  some  other  person? 
What  pleasure  can  it  afford  to  one  not  making 
a  scientific  study  of  birds  to  see  such  names  as 
"the  blue  and  yellow-throated  warbler,"  "the 
chestnut-headed  golden  warbler,"  "the  yellow- 
bellied,  red-poll  warbler,"  attached  to  the  small- 
est  and  daintiest  beauties  of  the  woods  ? 

Musing  upon  this  and  other  mysteries,  I  fol- 
lowed my  friend  up  the  familiar  paths  one  day, 
looking  for  some  young  birds  whose  strange  cries 
we  had  noted.  It  was  a  gray  morning,  and  all 


A  SEA  OF  JEWEL-WEED.  265 

the  tree  trunks  were  grim  and  dark,  with  no  va- 
riety in  coloring.  The  sounds  we  were  follow- 
ing led  us  through  some  unused  roads  entirely 
grown  up  with  jewel-weed,  part  of  it  five  feet 
high,  and  thickly  hung  with  the  yellow  flower 
from  which  it  takes  its  name. 

It  had  rained  in  the  night,  and  every  leaf  was 
adorned  with  minute  drops  like  gems.  We 
parted  the  stems  carefully  and  passed  through, 
though  it  seemed  to  us  like  wading  in  deep 
water,  and,  in  spite  of  our  caution,  we  were 
well  sprinkled  from  the  dripping  leaves.  Just  as 
we  stepped  out  of  our  green  sea,  the  low  calls  we 
were  trying  to  locate  ceased.  We  walked  slowly 
on  until  we  were  attracted  by  a  rustling  in  the 
dry  leaves,  and  then  we  turned  to  see  two  young 
thrushes  foraging  about  in  silence  by  themselves. 
They  were  not  very  shy,  but  looked  at  us  with 
innocent  baby  eyes  as  we  drew  near  and  exam- 
ined them.  We  saw  the  color  and  the  markings 
and  the  peculiar  movement  of  the  tail  character- 
istic of  the  hermit.  There  could  be  no  doubt 
that  these  were  hermit  babies.  We  were  de- 
lighted to  see  them.  *  I  never  feel  that  I  know  a 
bird  family  till  I  have  seen  the  young.  But  my 
pleasure  was  sadly  marred  by  the  reflection  that 
where  there  were  babies  must  have  been  a  nest 
and  a  singer,  and  we  had  not  heard  his  voice. 

The  last  Sunday  of  my  stay  came,  all  too  soon. 


266  SOLITARY  THE  THRUSH. 

It  was  a  glorious  day,  and,  as  usual,  the  two 
bird-lovers  turned  their  steps  toward  the  woods. 
Everything  seemed  at  rest  and  silent.  We 
paused  a  while  in  a  part  of  the  forest  in  which 
we  had  seen  some  strange  phases  of  bird  life, 
and  had  christened  the  "Bewitched  Corner." 
A  gentle  breeze  set  all  the  leaves  to  fluttering; 
far  off  a  woodpecker  drummed  his  salute  to  his 
fellows;  beyond  the  trees  we  could  hear  the 
indigo  bird  singing;  but  nothing  about  us  was 
stirring.  The  wood-pewee  was  unheard,  and 
even  the  vireo  seemed  to  have  finished  his  end- 
less song  and  gone  his  way. 

We  passed  on  a  few  rods  to  a  favorite  rest- 
ing place  of  our  daily  rounds,  where  my  com- 
rade always  liked  to  stretch  herself  upon  the  big 
bole  of  a  fallen  tree  in  the  broad  sunshine,  and 
I  to  seat  myself  at  the  foot  of  another  tree  in 
the  shade.  It  was  a  sppt 

"  where  hours  went  their  way 
As  softly  as  sweet  dreams  go  down  the  night." 

As  we  approached  this  place  a  sound  reached 
us  that  struck  us  dumb ;  it  was  a  hermit  thrush 
not  far  off.  Silently  we  stole  up  the  gentle  hill 
and  seated  ourselves. 

"At  last!  at  last!  "  1  cried  in  my  heart,  as  I 
leaned  back  against  my  tree  to  listen. 

Then  the  glorious  anthem  began  again ;  it  rose 
and  swelled  upon  the  air ;  it  filled  the  woods,  — 


THE  SONG  AT  LAST.  267 

"  And  up  by  mystical  chords  of  song 

The  soul  was  lifted  from  care  and  pain." 

Though  not  in  sight,  the  bird  was  quite  near, 
so  that  we  heard  every  note,  so  enchanting  !  so 
inimitable  !  For  ten  or  fifteen  minutes  he 
poured  out  the  melody,  while  our  hearts  fairly 
stood  still.  Then  he  stopped,  and  we  heard  the 
thrush  "chuck"  and  the  hermit  call,  which  is 
different  from  other  thrushes,  being  something 
between  a  squawk  and  a  mew.  Whether  this 
were  his  conversation  with  his  mate  we  could 
only  guess,  for  we  dared  not  move,  hardly  in- 
deed to  breathe. 

After  a  pause  the  bird  began  again,  and 
for  one  perfect  hour  we  sat  there  motionless, 
entranced,  and  took  our  fill  of  his  matchless 
rhapsody.  I  longed  inexpressibly  to  see  the  en- 
chanter, though  I  dared  not  stir  for  fear  of  start- 
ling him.  Perhaps  my  urgent  desire  drew  him ; 
at  any  rate  he  came  at  last  within  sight,  stood  a 
few  minutes  on  the  low  branch  of  a  tree  and 
looked  at  me,  lifting  and  dropping  his  expressive 
tail  as  he  did  so.  Two  or  three  low,  rich  notes 
bubbled  out,  as  if  he  had  half  a  mind  to  sing  to 
me ;  but  he  thought  better  of  it  and  dived  off  the 
branch  into  the  bushes.  We  rose  to  go. 

"This  only  was  lacking,"  I  said.  "This 
crowns  my  summer.  I  ask  no  more,  and  to- 
morrow I  go." 


INDEX. 


American  Goldfinch : 

bewitching  manners,  253. 

devotion  of  the  male,  255,  256. 

difficulty  of  watching,  253. 

nervous  sitter,  a,  256. 

nest,  a  second,  252. 

nest  building,  248,  249,  251,  253. 

nesting  ways,  244,  254. 

queer  scenes,  245,  246, 247. 

song,  257. 

talk  with  me,  a,  257. 

tragedy  again,  250. 

wooing,  244,  247. 

Black  and  White  creeper,  110. 
Black-throated  Blue  Warbler  : 

delight  in  nest,  166. 

hard  to  study,  164. 

nest  and  mate,  165. 

song,  163. 

studies  me,  168. 

vain  search  for,  169. 

young,  170. 
Bluejay,  the  young,  77. 

appearance  of,  89. 

description  of,  91. 

food  as  bait,  93. 

interest  of  neighbors,  95. 

not  afraid,  92. 

old  birds  to  the  rescue,  94. 

stray  youngster,  a,  93. 
Bobolink,  139. 

attack,  152. 

cries,  strange,  139,  140. 

disturbed,  151. 

manners,  139. 

musical  call,  153. 

song,  141,  144. 

wiles,  150. 

Cedar  Birds,  143. 
Chestnut-sided  Warbler,  184,  187. 

adopted  infant,  230. 
Chipping  Sparrow,  173. 
Crow,  the  parents,  240,  242. 

two  sides  to  the  question,  242. 


Crow,  the  young,  236. 

alighting,  238. 

coaxing  ways,  238. 

cry,  a  strange,  237. 

efforts  to  learn,  239. 

experimenting  in  food,  240. 

object  lesson,  an,  241. 
Cuckoo,  the  Black  Billed,  190. 

curious  performance,  194. 

male,  the,  192. 

mother  tactics,  the,  199. 

nest,  191. 

nest  deserted,  198. 

relieving  the  sitter,  192. 

sitting  bird,  the,  191. 

struck  dumb,  196. 

ventriloquism,  192. 

young,  194. 
Curiosity  of  Birds,  4. 

Golden  -  winged  Woodpecker,  or 
Flicker : 

cry  of  young,  40,  44. 

dress,  36. 

feeding,  39,  40,  43. 

flight  of  young,  46. 

manners,  35,  38. 

nest,  34. 

nest  deserted,  47. 

preparing  to  leave,  42,  43,  45, 

setting  house  in  order,  101. 

teaching  the  young,  134. 

ventriloquism,  102. 

young  appear,  39. 
Gray  Squirrel : 

cry  of,  178. 

poacher,  207. 
Great-crested  Fly-catcher,  227. 

Hermit  Thrush,  259. 

search  for,  262. 

shyness  of,  261. 

song,  266. 

voice,  259. 

young,  265. 
Humming  Bird  as  poacher,  207. 


270 


INDEX. 


Insects,  destruction  of,  18,  23. 

Junco,  nest,  132. 
young,  133. 

Kingbird : 

bathing,  26. 

character,  3,  12,  17. 

curious  antics,  232. 

distinguishing  marks,  14. 

English  sparrow  annoyance,  12. 

feeding,  21,  22,  25. 

greeting  to  mate,  8. 

nest  of,  2. 

nesting  habits,  9,  20. 

night  perch,  14. 

oriole  encounter,  5. 

preparing  to  sit,  7. 

robin  encounter,  6,  10. 

Bitting,  13. 

song,  14. 

treatment  of  young  robin,  31. 

young  out,  17,  19. 
Kingbird,  the  young : 

appearance    above     the    nest, 
22. 

attachment  to  each  other,  24. 

dress  of,  25. 

first  flight,  28. 

first  night  out  of  nest,  29. 

last  view,  32. 

leaving  the  nest,  26. 

migrating  cry,  27,  29. 

preparing  for  flight,  34. 

reception  of  strangers,  30. 

vireo  impertinence,  31. 

voice,  23. 

Mephitis  Family,  156. 

Oven  Bird,  Golden  Crowned  Thrush 
accident  to  nest,  177. 
good  sense  of,  178. 
nest,  177. 
song,  177. 

Partridge,  a  sitting,  80. 
Phoebe,  223. 

manners,  224. 

strange  performance,  225. 

Red-headed  Woodpecker,  211,  223. 
after  berries,  215,  219. 
comical  attitudes,  216. 
feeding  on  the  ground,  212. 
fly-catching,  217. 
frolics  of  young,  219. 
greeting  to  mate,  216. 
insulted  by  robin,  214. 
on  the  raspberries,  214. 


Red-headed  Woodpecker,  continued: 

poaching,  213. 

robin  surveillance,  216. 

settling  with  the  robin,  215. 

young,  217. 
Redstart 

and  chestnut-sided  warbler,  184. 

caution  of,  54. 

curiosity,  111. 

description,  50. 

hostility,  49. 

in  rain,  53. 

nest,  49,  59. 

nesting  habits,  51,  58. 

out  of  nest,  56. 

out  of  shell,  53. 

treatment  of  young,  55. 

young  identified,  189. 
Red  Squirrel,  234. 
Robin,  a  saucy,  70. 

morning  song,  173. 

on  guard,  216. 

special  policeman,  226. 

subdued,  37. 

surveillance,  87. 

takes  a  hint,  51. 
Rose-breasted  Grosbeak,  86. 

Scarlet  Tanager : 

bathing,  161. 

nest,  159. 

shyness,  160. 

young,  162. 
Song  Sparrow,  173. 
Sparrow  Hawk,  250. 

Towhee  Bunting,  young,  105. 

Veery,  Wilson's  Thrush : 
bleating  cry,  111. 
calls  and  cries,  125. 
cry  of  young,  107. 
description  of  young,  113. 
distress    of    parents,  120,  124, 

126. 

empty  nest,  120. 
friendliness,  126. 
humorist,  127. 
mother,  the,  109. 
nest  destroyed,  117. 
nest  seeking,  115. 
nests  found,  116,  118,  119,  124. 
solitude,  love  of,  125. 
song,  99,  106,  260. 

Warbler  life,  problems  in,  184,  264. 
Wood-pewee,  68. 

nest,  131. 

song,  70. 
Wood-thrush,  260. 


INDEX. 


271 


Yellow-bellied  Woodpecker,  or  Sap- 
sucker,  173,  201. 

drumming  habit,  207. 

food  habits,  203. 

frolics,  205. 

manners,  203,  204. 

nest,  209. 

traps,  204. 

voice,  202. 

young,  135,  209,  2iO. 
Young  Birds : 

black-throated  blue  warbler, 
170. 

bluebird,  72. 

brown  thrush,  61. 

chestnut-sided  warbler,  229. 

crow,  236. 

crow  blackbird,  228. 

cuckoo,  194. 


Young  Birds,  continued  : 
downy  woodpecker,  229. 
hermit  thrush,  265. 
in  rain,  175. 
kingbird,  22,  232. 
learning  to  flock,  68. 
other  young  birds,  74,  233,  263. 
out,  23. 
red  -  headed   woodpecker,   217, 

233. 

scarlet  tanager,  162. 
swallow,  65. 
towhee  bunting,  105. 
veery,  113. 
Wilson's  thrush,  113. 
woodpecker,  175. 
wood-pewee,  71. 
yellow-bellied  woodpecker,  136, 

209. 


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